Nora Jean & the Amber Irises
by Somnis
Summary: "We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." -Sirius Black
1. i

Nora Jean

 _and_ _the_ Amber Irises

" _We've all got both light and dark inside of us._

 _What matters is the part we choose to act on._

 _That's who we really are."_

 _-Sirius Black_

i.

The kettle whistled softly in the predawn hush as tapered, callused fingers drummed nervously against the glossy grain of the mahogany table. The bones of the hands were fine and light, the nails neat and uniform. A thick gold wedding band, dull with age, encircled the ring finger of her right hand as the sound sliced through the silence. Absently gazing into space, she wondered how much the piece of furniture had cost the master of the estate. It was an antique. She speculated that everything in the house was an antique. In all of her sixty-five years as a caretaker, she didn't think the table had ever been used as anything more than decoration. It was a shame, really; a waste. She supposed the wealthy could afford expenses such as that as she drew what appeared to be a stick from the pocket of her apron. Closer inspection revealed that was not merely a stick; it had been carved and whittled, fitted into a handle. There was something else about it, something that couldn't really be categorized. The object resonated with an aura as old and powerful as time itself. A wave of the wand lifted the kettle from the burner and sent it soaring through the air until it came to a neat stop atop the table. The water gave a quiet hiss as it splashed into the hand-crafted china teacups, swirls of dark orange and pale green emerging from the tea leaves at the bottom of each.

"You know she won't drink that, Camille."

The housekeeper turned her head slightly to appraise the visitor, keeping the task at hand in her peripheral vision. His unruly brown hair was tousled on either side, giving him the appearance of having licked a live outlet. Blue eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused from lack of sleep. His shirt was untucked on one side and his trousers had come uncreased. It was not often that the master of the house came down to the kitchens, and it was even less common for him to let his appearance become so unkempt, not that she blamed him.

A small smile graced the housekeeper's lips as her worn hands took up a teaspoon and dropped a lump of sugar into each cup. The house had settled into a tense silence, as if the estate had begun to hold its breath in anticipation. The master of the estate observed her quietly as she busied herself with adding milk to both cups. Petite and stocky, Camille had been serving the Remington family since her childhood. Her curls were the color of copper, though streaks of gray had begun to show in the past few years. Her eyes were still the same bottle green, her skin still the color of aged ivory mottled with freckles and creased with laughter lines. He smiled as she offered him the cup.

"It wasn't meant for her, sir," She gestured towards the kitchen's Dutch doors, beyond which spanned the rest of the manor. "There isn't anything we can do for her until she's good and ready. But I thought you could use an excuse not to sit by her bed and pull your hair out." Her keen eyes flicked from his mussed hair to his untidy clothes. The sigh that escaped his lips was fatigued. The grandfather clock in the foyer tolled midnight, its sound shattering the silence like glass; the mistress of the house had been in labor for a full day and the anticipation of her son's delivery was agony for her husband.

"It shouldn't be taking this long," Unsure whether the murmur was directed at her or at himself, Camille remained silent for a moment, as if considering his words. In reality, though, she was willing herself to be patient. She'd had the opportunity to deliver several babies during her lifetime. Aramis, she reminded herself, did not come armed with that experience, and it did nothing to soothe his troubled nerves that his wife had rejected the assistance of the Healers' magic in favor of a natural birth. A warm smile graced her chapped lips as she laid a hand on his arm.

"The little one will arrive when he's ready, and not a moment sooner. You're doing yourself no favors by worrying. Let nature take its course," she scolded him gently. The tension lay like a blanket over the estate as Aramis' weathered hands grasped his teacup with white knuckles and mechanically went through the motions of sipping. His bleary unfocused eyes stared idly into the distance, the silence growing between them in a manner that was not uncomfortable. The minutes stretched infinitely into hours and still they waited, helpless to do anything but exercise patience. When his teacup stood empty, the master of the estate got to his feet and began to pace across the kitchen floor, worry creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

One of the young servant boys came bounding through the kitchen's Dutch doors, sputtering sentence fragments as he slumped against the wall. No older than thirteen, the boy was winded as though he had run the entire length of the estate from the master's wing. He gestured wildly, massaging a stitch in his side between gasps.

"Sir! The mistress sent me-! It's time!"

Both adults were on their feet before the boy had finished speaking. Camille gripped her wand tightly as Aramis placed a hand on her elbow, and there suddenly was nothing but air in the place where they had once stood. They simply vanished, only to manifest in the master bedchamber. Camille righted herself and rolled her sleeves up past the elbow to reveal heavily freckled forearms, braced for the scene before her as she washed her hands in the basin that stood in the corner.

The Healer hovered off to one side, casting anxious looks at the spellbook before her. Ancient runes dotted the cover of the tome; something to do with magic applicable to childbirth. Camille prayed that it was merely a precaution, wasting no time in closing in on the bed. Her mistress lay abed with her belly huge, sweat beading furiously along her hairline as her forehead creased with exertion. Her lips were white with pain, standing in stark contrast with her flushed face. Long, graceful fingers clawed at the blood-drenched silk sheets as the woman cried out in pain, her frantic husband reaching her side with three long strides. Her vicelike grip crushed Aramis' fingers as the housekeeper dabbed at Noreen's damp brow with a washcloth.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but you need to push," Camille's lilting brogue soothed the woman as yet another contraction wracked her petite body. Noreen moaned in response, tears forming in her eyes. Losing patience, the housekeeper gently, but firmly, seized her shoulders and shook her gently. "Ma'am, _push._ " The urgency in her voice seemed to snap her mistress out of her pained trance and, in several moments that felt like an eternity, the startled cry of a newborn baby sliced through the air, still with anticipation. The housekeeper's gentle hands lifted the infant from the bloodstained sheets as the Healer descended upon Noreen, and Camille pointed her wand at the baby. " _Tergeo,_ " she murmured, siphoning blood from the child's delicate skin as the newborn squirmed and wailed. Skilled hands guided the child's limbs until Camille had successfully swaddled the squirming bundle; the cyan blanket had been painstakingly knitted by Noreen's deft hands for her firstborn son, and Camille nestled the baby into the new mother's arms as the Healer dabbed a cold cloth against her brow.

She had always been a beauty, but with the birth of her child, she was radiant. The blonde sat, seeming to emanate a golden glow as she shifted to greet the newborn. Her golden locks were soaked with sweat, pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face. Her eyes were gleaming silver and shining with adoration as she pulled back the top of the blanket to press her lips against the infant's forehead. Camille shifted uncomfortably as the Healer peeked at the child over Aramis' shoulder.

"Congratulations, ma'am," She smiled warmly at the parents, preparing herself inside. "What will you be callin' her?" The new father chuckled, brushing a stray lock behind his wife's ear; Noreen's unwavering eyes were riveted to the housekeeper.

"Her? Camille, you misspoke. This is my son. The Healers told us we were to have a boy."

Camille shook her head slowly, gesturing at the infant with a trembling hand.

"I beg your pardon, Master Aramis, but I'm certain the child is a girl."

The silence that followed sent tremors into the very foundations of the universe as the newborn baby girl steadily met her mother's gaze, steely irises mirrored back at Noreen while she regarded the infant in disgust.


	2. ii

ii.

Old people were endlessly boring; Nora, as she was called in honor of her mother, supposed she would never understand why her attendance was required to welcome guests that had previously been to Remington Manor. She would stand at her mother's side, poised in silence with a smile plastered across her lips as strangers touched her hair and kissed the air beside her cheek. They raved to her parents about how much of a lady she was. The afternoons would require her to maintain her composure with her jaw firmly set into a lovely mask as the adults socialized over crystal flutes of champagne. Nora loathed evenings such as these; mornings involved sitting motionless for hours as Camille sculpted her shimmering golden tresses into a perfect tumble of ringlets that cascaded down her back and made her look like one of those revolting porcelain dolls. She was carefully pinned, tucked, and tied into a dress that resembled a pastry and allowed no room for movement. Camille was consistently reminding her to demonstrate constant composure and only speak when spoken to, at her mother's request. The guests regarded her as a flower placed carefully atop a table to be gawked at, rather than the quick-witted child that she had become.

However, the worst part wasn't the dress or the guests.

The worst part was the shoes, and it was because of those shoes that she met him for the first time.

That July had been dreadfully warm and her father was hosting a lavish garden party in honor of her mother's birthday. The day had been so humid that it felt as though the air itself was perspiring. The mistress had excused herself from the morning's preparations in order to spend the time being pampered in her private suite; this generally included her soaking for hours in a heated bath while snapping her fingers and ordering her maids around. Noreen had never been a particularly adept witch; she was renowned more for her striking beauty. She was the only daughter of the pureblood Aleksandrovich family native to St. Petersburg, and had married a complete stranger in her adolescence. A former debutante and socialite, her marriage into the Remington family ensured the security of her future as a housewife and mother. Due to nature of her blood and socioeconomic status, she had been taught to pass as a Muggle in order to function efficiently both in and outside of the Wizarding world; word-of-mouth indicated that she had rejected magic long before the birth of her daughter. The mistress was a pleasure-seeker and an extrovert, preferring to spend time gossiping over flutes of sparkling champagne with a rotating door of illustrious guests than with her children. It was not unheard of for her daughter to go several days without seeing her mother.

Nora was zipped carefully into her clothes; she had spent the early part of the celebration perched carefully in a chair with lace and ruffles arranged around her like a bouquet prepared for delivery. It was imperative that she had been strategically placed adjacent to her mother in order to maintain the appearance of a picturesque pureblood family. Nora regarded the entire ordeal as ironic, to sustain the image of perfection despite her parents' constant absence. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she half-smiled serenely at the adults who only bothered to comment on how closely she resembled her mother, remarks that had the mistress of the household frantically sipping chardonnay as she clung to her husband's elbow.

Nora was a wise child. She displayed a strong sense of self-awareness for her age and had a keen eye for observation. The tension that hummed in the air was enough to alert her to the importance of the event that was being held at her family's estate. Those who bore the surname Remington were not the only regal blood present; the Duke of Wales and his family were in attendance as well. The connection between the families was older than Nora's time, and there had often been whispers among the household staff that pairing the headstrong blonde with the heir to the Nott fortune would undoubtedly benefit both clans. It was not uncommon to have arranged marriages among pureblood families; in fact, many families did so to ensure the survival of the bloodline. Nora had never met his son, but the Duke was a frequent guest at Remington Manor.

The surly-faced blonde tugged at the ruffles on her pinafore that matched her mother's pale blue silk sundress. Her father's crisp dress shirt coordinated perfectly with the family's aesthetic appearance. Nora's shoes were patent leather so shiny that she could have checked her reflection in them, and they blistered her feet even as she sat motionless. She tried to nudge the backs off of her heels and her mother waved her into silence while she fidgeted. The evening was hot and humid, and the child was beginning to lose patience with her parents. Everyone she made eye contact with muttered almost unintelligibly about her betrothal to the Duke of Wales' son behind the rims of their beautiful crystal glasses. Most of the adults were drinking champagne and they were becoming increasingly less reserved about their words as they imbibed. Nora's irritation grew as she fussed in discomfort. She wished to remove the dreaded shoes buckled onto her feet and the dress that felt like a marshmallow in favor of a cotton jumper and bare feet. She could feel the prying eyes on her as the adults made their rounds. Near-constant mention of the children's betrothal had become tiresome for Nora and steadily grown into a resentment towards the boy; she was not particularly enthusiastic to encounter him after hearing the adults discuss potential marriage as though she were a piece of meat being auctioned. Camille turned a blind eye when the child unfolded herself from her chair and slinked away down a garden path, ditching the dreaded patent leather foot prisons.

Her footsteps were light and free as she padded down the cobblestone path until she was obscured from view. Noreen's garden itself was a work of art; she had spent the majority of her daughter's life carefully arranging flowering plants and shrubs into a garden reminiscent of the fae high court. Exotic blooms of every hue in the spectrum spilled over the dark mulch as if reaching for passersby, the shrubbery so dense that it created a sound barrier from the dull chatter of the party. Nora was grateful for the opportunity to take a break from the rotating door of guests; she could only pretend to half listen for so long before she was bored to tears. She found herself wondering idly why she hadn't met the Duke as she ran her fingertips lightly over the petals of a particularly showy rosebush. The deep crimson edging stood in sharp contrast with the ivory blooms; this was her favorite plant in the entire grounds. Her mother claimed that the Tudor roses were cultivated from clippings originally taken from plants that grew around the Hatfield House. All of the groundskeepers were talented magical herbologists who had painstakingly curated each plant to perfection; Noreen would tolerate nothing less. Her daughter found solitude among the petals and leaves, away from the prying eyes and gossiping mouths of her everyday life. Thousands of live fairies gently illuminated the shrubbery with a soft, dappled light as they flitted about the blooms.

It was here that he found her, finally.

His back was straight, his head held tall with the posture of an aristocrat as he effortlessly socialized and mingled with the adults. It was as easy as breathing, gracing the older ladies with a handsome smile and exchanging handshakes with the other men. He was the youngest by far, though his mannerisms did nothing to betray his age; he outwardly appeared in his element as he wound his way through the party, attempting to remain inconspicuous. Molten golden eyes scanned faces and his motions were effortless, practiced, almost a waltz that carried him through the crowd; many of the faces were vaguely familiar, but not the one he sought. In truth, he had only rumors to work with; that she bore her mother's alabaster skin, golden tresses, and iridescent silver eyes.

He had met the Remingtons on several prior occasions; the father, Aramis, was an investor born into an ancient bloodline and had been appointed as Director of Gringotts Bank by the Ministry of Magic. His wife, Noreen, was a fragile, shallow thing; her behavior made it clear that she preferred the life of a socialite over that of a witch. She was a descendent of an equally old wizarding family that originated in St. Petersburg, and her marriage had been one of convenience rather than one of romance. The debutante had been groomed to be sold to the highest bidder, making the journey alone from Russia to marry Aramis Remington, a complete stranger. She fulfilled her role as a homemaker and a housewife dutifully, as had been expected of her. Alexander Nicholas was their infant son, long awaited heir to the Remington fortune named for Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich of Russia. His birth symbolized the preservation of an ancient lineage, ensuring that the name would be passed onto an additional generation.

However, it was not the parents or the son that had attracted the attention of the Duke of Wales.

He sought a petite blonde with stormy eyes and a fiery temper that existed without a filter. Though she was rumored to resemble her mother, this was the only similarity the two bore. She was a brash and headstrong child, making her unfit to follow in Noreen's footsteps as a socialite. Her parents' incentive to betroth her to the Duke of Wales' son was political. Her grandfather's side had been charged by the Ministry with overseeing the operations of Gringotts Bank for nearly 500 years, and it would be of great financial interest for the Duke to join the board of investors. The name Remington had been mentioned with increasing frequency in the Duke's household as of late; the reasons behind his family's attendance were abundantly clear. She was, however, not at her mother's side as Taylor slowly made his rounds and approached the host family.

Aramis was quiet and charming, though when he spoke, his words resonated with conviction and intelligence. His crisp shirt matched his wife's sundress as she stood clutching a glass of pale champagne in one hand as the other held her husband's elbow in a crushing grip. There was no doubt that she was lovely, dressed in cornflower blue silk that complemented her eyes. A cascade of blonde waves was swept up into a knot on the back of her head in a vain attempt to remain cool. A woman hovered at Noreen's elbow, bouncing a sweaty blonde baby on her hip as he teethed on a goblin-wrought silver spoon. The child was dressed in the same fashion as his parents, making Taylor's search easier as he concluded that she would be dressed in a coordinating fashion with her parents. His eyes of molten gold searched the crowd for an azure dress as he smoothly greeted mingling guests and wound through the party. This had occupied the majority of his evening and he felt himself becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to locate the object of everyone's interest. His dress shoes made a soft tapping on the cobblestone as he wandered down a garden path to clear his head and hopefully begin his search anew.

The shoes were patent leather polished to a mirror shine and so petite he assumed they must belong to a child. One lay askew in the grass away from the path, but the other was pointed straight ahead like a compass. Her hair was the color of spun gold and it shimmered in the afternoon light, a single sweeping curtain of curls down her back. Her skin was the color of old, creamy ivory and so smooth she could have been cut from marble. She was carefully buttoned into a frilly, lacy dress that matched her family's color scheme, though she was noticeably barefoot; she faced away from him, running slender fingers over the blood red edges of the blooms before her. His slightly sweaty hand was trembling minutely as he removed the single crimson rose from the lapel of his jacket and approached her, clearing his throat. She jumped slightly and whirled to face him with an expression that conveyed fury; in two strides, the petite blonde was nose-to-nose with him, though this required her to balance on her toes and stretch up to his height. He couldn't help but notice that her lovely eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, were a particularly frosty shade of slate gray.

It happened as if in slow motion; Nora snatched the bud from him before placing her hands firmly against his chest and giving a shove, his backside coming in contact with the soft, dark mulch as he gave a gasp of surprise. She turned on a dime and stalked away, trailing an air of contempt in her wake. Anger flared and roared like an open flame in his chest as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and his hands began to tremble; he paused to collect himself and rejoined the party, dusting off his suit jacket. Upon his return, his father arched an inquisitive eyebrow, keen eyes flicking first to the boy's soiled clothes and then to his flushed face. The boy's nose was wrinkled in disgust, eyes cold and distant as the Duke sighed; his son was being exceptionally careful to hide his anger. His father speculated the reason in silence as he regarded his son's uncharacteristically controlled reaction. By the time Taylor finished his rounds and rejoined his father's side, Camille had long whisked the girl off to bed and he was once again alone to mingle with the adults; his attention was noticeably distracted as his amber eyes gazed towards the illuminated windows of the manor.

Nora's dress lay crumpled in a pile of ruffles on her bedchamber floor as she slipped into a cotton shift and padded silently across to her bookshelf. An antique leather-bound edition of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ rested on the bottom shelf, and she withdrew the book, flipping to a random page. Her free hand gripped the rose that the wretched boy had offered her, its flawless petals crafted by a master sculptor. The crimson bud had recently begun to bloom and was the epitome of geometric perfection. She had no idea it had been selected carefully just for her as she placed it between the pages and returned the book to the shelf before slipping into bed. The boy's shocked face and amber eyes were burned into the front of her mind as she struggled to eventually drift to sleep.

Upon arriving home, the boy's composure broke and he stormed into his father's office, hurling his jacket to the floor and beginning to shout about the audacity of _that wretched child_. Surely something had to be done. He was adamant that his father send an urgent owl to Aramis Remington, demanding an apology from his daughter. Taylor's father was empathetic but firm, guiding his son away from anger with a calm and rational tone. He lamented his son's loss of interest, assuring him that there were plenty of available pureblood families looking to marry their daughters off. Losing patience with his father's inability to see the damage to his ego, Taylor stomped from the room, slamming doors as he returned to his chambers and readied for bed. He was eager to slip away, seeking his friend to disclose the day's events.

The grandfather clock on the landing was just beginning to strike midnight as he made his way carefully up creaky wooden steps. Dust swirled through the stale air of the attic; she was waiting for him in the vaulted eves of the estate, a single candle casting her pale form into deep shadow. Her long blonde hair fell in a limp curtain, partially obscuring one side of her face. There were heavy bags under her eyes; he wondered how long she'd been there, sitting alone in silence. The unobscured side of her face broke into a smirk as he approached her with long strides, sitting opposite her on a pillow.

"So," she whispered smoothly and her voice was soothing to his troubled mind, "How bad was it?" He rolled his eyes and she giggled, the sound a whisper hushed by the echoing silence of the castle.

"Another brat," Taylor shook his head in disgust, anger flaring in his chest as he recalled his embarrassment to her. Her eyebrows knitted together and she glowered at his story, distaste evident on her face. She argued that he should have retaliated, forcing a sigh from between his lips.

Isolde, he reminded himself, didn't have his understanding of pureblood politics or acceptable social behavior; he could hardly hold that against her. There were some things about pureblood society that she just didn't understand. Composure was one of them, and this became increasingly apparent as they argued about his actions regarding the Remington girl. She was adamant that the child should be punished to the fullest extent in order to compromise the emotional trauma her friend had suffered and, though he agreed with her, he knew that retaliation would do nothing to benefit his reputation.

The clock read that it was nearly two in the morning by the time the children called a truce and descended the stairs. His friend extinguished her candle so she could slip away to her chambers unnoticed after exchanging a brief embrace with Taylor, who lingered to muse about being grateful for this escape from his life. He made his way slowly back to his wing, taking his time to climb into bed as his mind reeled with the events of the day; Nora's furious silver stare was burned into his eyelids every time he closed his eyes to sleep. There was something about her very presence that was alluring and he couldn't place what it was as he replayed the scene over in his head.

 _Though she be but little, she is fierce,_ he reminded himself.

The following morning's events were similar in both households as the children stumbled sleepily to breakfast in their pajamas; the servants were clearing used plates and utensils from the table, making it clear that Nora would be eating alone. Noreen's laughter echoed down the hall among idle chatter, making it clear that she was already entertaining guests, likely over a glass of oak-matured mead served on the rocks. The housekeeper slipped a bowl of oatmeal topped with bananas before the child and motioned for her to eat as she swept through the kitchen doors, leaving Nora alone to dig her spoon into her breakfast. The oatmeal was slightly sweet; Camille had hidden a single sugar cube at the bottom of the bowl just as she had been doing for as long as Nora could remember. Thick buttery sunlight poured in through tall paneled windows, bathing the child in a warm glow as she ate in silence except for the clink of her bowl and spoon. Through the windows, she had a sweeping view of the rolling green lawns of the stately manor encircled by the stone wall acting as a barrier between the estate and the Muggle world. She ate mechanically, moving the spoon to her mouth with practiced motions as she gazed distractedly into space; her irritation grew as she struggled to shake the image of Taylor's momentarily heartbroken face from her mind.

Nora frowned slightly; jarring herself from her trancelike state of maneuvering spoonful's to her mouth and becoming aware of just how loud the noise of her spoon seemed. She froze and leaned closer to her bowl, unsure of what she was hearing. The sharp staccato tapping grew louder and her eyes swept the room for the source of the noise, placing her spoon atop her napkin gently. With a delighted shreik, she discovered the culprit and raced to the window as Camille entered from the kitchen, using her wand to guide a tea pot to rest on the table. The owl perched outside on the pane was a handsome barn owl, his feathers a silky amber standing in stark contrast to his snowy face. A large envelope was clutched in his beak as he bowed to deposit it in Nora's hand before stretching his wings and taking flight once more. The wax seal bore an ancient crest and she tore off the envelope.

Hogwarts School

 _of_ Witchcraft _and_ Wizardry

Headmistress: Lucille M. Evernight

 _(O. of M., 2_ _nd_ _Class, Grand Sorc.,_

 _Chf. Warlock of the Wizenagamot,_

 _International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Ms. Remington,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Lucille M. Evernight

 _Headmistress_

Hogwarts School

 _of_ Witchcraft _and_ Wizardry

Uniform

First-year students will require:

1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

Course Materials

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

 _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

by Miranda Goshawk

 _A History of Magic_

by Bathilda Bagshot

 _Magical Theory_

by Adalbert Waffling

 _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_

by Emeric Switch

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

by Phyllida Spore

 _Magical Drafts and Potions_

by Arsenius Jigger

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

by Newt Scamander

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

by Quentin Trimble

Additional Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

Parents are reminded that first years are NOT allowed their own broomstick.

The child's face was elated as her luminescent silver eyes scanned the parchment quickly before running down the hall just beyond the grasp of the housekeeper. She burst into her mother's sitting chamber, brandishing the letter triumphantly; Camille's heart sank as she followed Nora to be greeted by Noreen's livid stare. Glowering at the child in disgust, her mother apologized to her guests for the disturbance and seized her daughter's skinny wrist in an unbreakable grasp. She dragged the child into the corridor and dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor; Nora counted the Duke of Wales among the guests before her mother stalked back into the room and slammed the door shut. She turned her tear-filled gray eyes to Camille, who hurried to control the mental wounds Noreen had inflicted on her daughter. The child cast the letter away and it fluttered to the flagstone floor as she escaped to her chambers with tears streaking her face; she hurled herself onto her bed and sobbed brokenly into her pillow with questions about her mother's distaste for magic racing through her young mind.


	3. iii

iii.

Nora stepped out of the fireplace and into the dimly lit parlor of the pub, where her mother waited brushing ash from her dove gray coat. The downstairs was small and shabby, with long tables of unfinished wood lining the shadowed walls. A bar constructed of knobby pine stood opposite the fireplace, supervised by the innkeeper who slowly dried glasses with a dirty cloth. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she took in the sight of the stunning blonde; Noreen emitted a radiant glow that seemed to illuminate the entire pub. She smiled graciously as she acknowledged the woman behind the bar.

"Fancy seein' you 'ere, mum," The innkeeper's voice was warm. "Will ye be 'aving anything today?" Noreen laughed derisively as the woman's hands reached for a bottle of firewhiskey, and the sound was like bells. Nora watched the exchange with her lips pursed into a thin line; she was unsurprised that others were familiar with her mother's habit of imbibing. A shady pair of pale figures clad in cloaks with high collars sat in the darkest corner of the bar sipping from glasses of thick crimson liquid and speaking in hushed accents. There was a hunch backed woman with her hood pulled low over her face as she puffed on a long, thin pipe beside the fire; a single long black hair grew from the mole on her nose and Nora wondered idly if she was a hag.

"Not today, thank you," Her words were cool as she gestured to her daughter, who busied herself with glancing around trying to absorb every detail of her surroundings; Noreen's thick accent made her words blunt and stiff. "We are just passing through to purchase Nora's school supplies. She starts at Hogwarts this year." Her tone made it sound dreadfully boring, words cutting into the child's concentration like knives. Nora rolled her steely eyes at her mother, trying to disguise her emotional reaction as Noreen swept across the bar and held the back door open as a gesture for her daughter to walk through. The door exited to a small, chilly courtyard facing a brick wall.

Her mother withdrew her wand from her purse and Nora stared frozen in shock with her mouth agape; this was the first time she had ever witnessed Noreen holding a wand in her hand. The tip struck the bricks sharply, counting from the solitary trash can three up and two across; the last one sunk into the wall as Noreen's wand tapped it and the bricks began to shift with a low rumbling sound until there was nothing but a gaping entrance where the wall had once stood, leading down a cobbled road that ambled and twisted out of sight. The shops bore colorful awnings and window displays of objects Nora had never seen before; she busied herself with trying to drink in every detail: the shops, their wares, the people who bustled in and out of the doorways and the conversation that drifted in their wake. She squinted to shield her eyes from the bright afternoon sun as it shone brightly on a stack of assorted cauldrons in the shop window nearest her mother; each was a different metal and had different properties, according to the sign hanging overhead.

" _Eleanor_ ," Noreen's voice held a warning tone as she addressed her daughter sharply, and it dawned on Nora that she had been stationary for the better part of a minute as she jogged to catch up.

The sulfuric smell of rotten eggs drifted lazily in a greenish haze out of nearby doors as Noreen swept by a storefront with her usual regal air; it did not go unnoticed by her daughter that passersby were quick to jump out of her mother's way, and equally quick to stop and stare as she passed. Jewel-bright eyes glittered at Nora from the windows of Eeylops Owl Emporium, following her with their hypnotic unblinking stare. A group of young wizards not much older than Nora had their noses pressed longingly against a window display as they gazed in awe at the broomstick that rested on a shiny satin pillow just inside the glass, whispering excitedly as though afraid they would disturb the broom. Neat lettering on the handle spelled out the words Cumulus Pro Model carefully engraved into the smooth finish of the wood. Despite her constant exposure to the Wizarding world, there were more magical wares for sale in Diagon Alley than she could have ever fathomed needing; the feeling sent her mind reeling in the face of it all. She could hardly contain the mixture of excitement and curiosity that had her pausing every few paces to gaze longingly into the shop windows as Nora and her mother approached their first destination.

The building was carved from snowy marble and towered over its surroundings; burnished bronze doors were held by a squat man with an angular face, clad in a uniform of scarlet and gold. He stood a full head shorter than Nora, his face clever and observant, and she couldn't help notice his lengthy fingers and toes as he bowed to her mother. The second pair of doors was silver and engraved with a warning for anyone who dared to cross the threshold with ulterior motives.

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

A shudder ran down Nora's back as she recited the words from memory, never needing to read the inscription as the doors opened into the massive foyer. The goblins bowed to her in equal parts as they greeted her mother, who graced them with a serene smile. Gringotts Wizarding Bank was widely regarded as the safest place in London; only a person wishing to die a most painful death would dare try to rob its vaults. The hall was huge and carved from marble identical to its exterior; at least a hundred more goblins were perched atop high stools obscured by a long counter that stood to Nora's eyelevel, scribbling numbers and runes into ledgers, weighing coins and exchanging Muggle money with a grim smirk, each pushing the beads of an abacus systematically back and forth as they counted. More doors than Nora could count branched off from the hall as more goblins guided people through them and into the darkness beyond the many thresholds. Her mother crossed the marble floors with long strides until she reached one goblin sitting at a desk that overlooked the entire foyer. He was dressed in black silk from head to toe and was so old his skin and hair was beginning to turn papery and thin. He peered at the woman from over a pair of glasses framed in gold, arching one eyebrow as he regarded her.

"The Director is in a meeting," The sneer in his voice was almost palpable as the goblin spoke brusquely to Noreen before turning his attention back to the silver scales before him where he was carefully weighing a pile of emeralds the size of eggs. Noreen fixed him with a cold, unwavering stare.

"Then tell him to leave the meeting," she snapped and her daughter couldn't help but sigh in exasperation. A deep tenor voice cleared its throat poignantly behind them and Nora quickly found herself being hoisted into the air by her father's arms. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her face against the crisp fabric of his button down shirt as he pecked his wife carefully on the cheek.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing my two favorite ladies?" Aramis winked covertly at his daughter and she giggled. Nora brandished her Hogwarts letter smugly at her father and his eyes scanned the parchment before rolling skyward. "Impossible. It can't be time for you to go to school already. Were you not just born the other day?" She shared her father's subtle, clever sense of humor, though it was abundantly clear that her mother did not.

"This warrants a trip to the vault," Noreen reminded her husband in a lazy drawl; her tone made it clear that she found this whole ordeal dreadfully boring, as if she had anything else to be doing. Aramis led his family to a door leading off the hall and held it open for them. Most people would have come to expect more marble after seeing the foyer, but the door led to a winding maze of narrow stone passageways, lit every few paces by flaming tapers. The floor sloped steeply and in the flickering orange light a set of railway tracks ran parallel to the corridor and descended into darkness. Aramis whistled and a small cart came rattling up the tracks to stop neatly beside his wife, who visibly hesitated. "Surely there must be another way to get there?" Nora's father arched one incredulous eyebrow at Noreen as he tucked his daughter onto the seat and climbed in beside her, gesturing to the empty spot.

"You know this is the only way to our vault," Aramis said reasonably and the cart began its descent; slowly at first but steadily gathering speed until the rattling cart was hurtling along a maze of twisted passages.

Nora tried as she always had to remember the turns but the cart seemed to have a mind of its own as it steered itself along the tracks; the cold air stung her eyes and nose and she struggled to make sense of the blurred scenes flying past her. The cart continued its descent to pass an underground lake that shimmered in the dim light, surrounded by massive stalactites and stalagmites. A stream of water gushed from a fissure in the stone passageway, pouring directly onto the track as they approached, and Nora was briefly afraid that they would surely be soaked. The deluge stopped briefly when the cart passed beneath it, the child momentarily stunned as her father chuckled. "It's a security measure that strips away any magical concealment or enchantments, and can only be turned off by myself or the goblins," Aramis shouted over the noise. The passages were becoming progressively darker and Nora was certain the temperature was dropping. Their journey took several minutes before the cart came to a dead stop next to a cave-like opening. She peeked around her mother as Aramis exited, pulling a small metal instrument from his pocket and gave it a shake; the sound was akin to tiny hammers striking an anvil and it rang through the passageway at a deafening volume, whereupon the corridor's occupant awoke with a start.

The gigantic dragon reared back to bar access to a passageway containing the five deepest vaults in the bank, her chest rumbling with a low growl that thundered in Nora's ears. Her rough black scales had faded slightly and begun to flake from her underground imprisonment; all four legs bore heavy shackles chained to pegs that had been driven deep into the ground. Her great spiked wings and arrow-tipped tail were folded close to her body and were big enough to span the entire corridor when outstretched. She bore scars and vicious slash marks across her ugly face and clouded eyes, likely the result of conditioning by the goblins; it was more than probable that she had been blinded prematurely and taught to associate the noise of the clankers with the stinging slash of a hot sword. She roared angrily before retreating and Nora's father pressed his palm into a smooth space on the door of the vault, it melting away before her eyes.

The room was crammed with treasure in a gleaming display that took up every nook and cranny; fine suits of goblin-wrought silver armor stood in an organized line along one wall that was covered in silk and velvet tapestries. Goblets and silverware spilled over the edge of one gem-encrusted chest that sat on the floor beside a shipping trunk overflowing with the skins and furs of unfamiliar creatures; some with glimmering metallic scales, others with shiny iridescent fur. A glass cabinet held three shelves of mysterious substances in all manner of crystal vials and jeweled bottles and they gleamed innocently in the light; some were labeled, others bore single runes, most were unmarked. A marble bust looked at Nora serenely from atop a table; around its neck was a sparkling pendant on a thick silver chain. The majority of the room, however, was dominated by a massive stone chest covered with a series of intricate engravings. The lid had been pushed aside and the chest itself was overflowing with coins that shone softly in the torchlight. Heaps of fat golden Galleons the size of her palm, piles of shiny silver Sickles, and tiny bronze Knuts filled the chest and overflowed haphazardly onto the floor. Aramis pressed a coin purse neatly crafted from soft black leather into his daughter's palm before placing his hand on her back and guiding her towards the chest.

"Take what you will need, but never more," Her father warned as she dropped a small handful of each coin into the bag; she was slightly dazzled by the treasure before her. She had not entered the family vault since she was little and the memory was a faint one. " _Enter, stranger, but take heed of what awaits the sin of greed_." His daughter nodded sagely and slid the purse deep into the pocket of her coat.

One wild cart ride and several kisses for her father later, Nora stood blinking away the daze of afternoon sunlight; the freedom of wealth was an intriguing sensation and she found herself resisting the urge to wander into shops and make purchases out of impulse. Instead, her mother dragged her into Twilfitt and Tatting's to purchase her uniform; much to her chagrin, this required her to stand on a stool gazing through the shop window without moving. She was vaguely surprised by the swarms of children close to her own age that wandered by the shop unsupervised; they moved in packs, chattering over one another in a dull roar.

Nora felt his eyes of molten gold on her when a gap in the crowd created a window across the cobblestone street, and her mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. His dark hair, once neatly combed, had been mussed slightly by the wind and he was dressed casually in a sweater and pants, standing in contrast to the formality of his attire during their previous meeting. In one hand, he grasped a bag filled with assorted books, the other hung loosely at his side; he was also, she noted, not alone. His tall blond friend was speaking animatedly to him as Taylor looked through the shop window and met her piercing gaze. Her mouth closed with a nearly inaudible snap of her teeth as she set her jaw and stared him down; it was a composure technique that her mother had ingrained carefully in her mind. Nora was not the only one that noticed the young man, she realized as Noreen's gentle drawl met her ears.

"Isn't that the Duke of Wales' son?" Her mother arched her perfect golden eyebrows and gestured lazily with her chin; her daughter was relieved that Noreen's attention was quickly distracted without waiting for a response. The events that had transpired at the garden party had yet to be discussed in the Remington household and Nora was not eager to revisit the subject. Fate spared her, however; by the time she looked up again, he had disappeared and only the endless stream of people remained beyond the shop window.

Once her uniform was purchased, Nora and her mother continued making their way down the crowded cobblestone streets, a bag with the name of the shop emblazoned on the front tucked neatly into the crook of her arm. She purchased a set of beautiful brass scales along with a telescope and several crystal vials at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, where her mother encountered several of her socialite friends and they chatted briefly, flashing pearly white smiles and batting their eyelashes. She caught the tail end of their conversation as they mentioned getting together for a drink that afternoon before kissing the air beside one another's face and melding into the bustling crowd. They wandered into the cauldron shop where a man whose hands were covered in sore red boils was arguing loudly with the shopkeeper about refunding his money for a self-stirring cauldron that had disintegrated and burned him with its contents. The shopkeeper's counterargument was that man's injuries indicated an error in brewing, shouting that the man had forgotten to remove the cauldron from the fire before adding his porcupine quills. At Scribbulus' Writing Instruments, Nora had to tear herself away from a display showing off an acid green quill racing unattended back and forth across a roll of parchment taking notes as a woman dictated from a book of fables.

Her spellbooks were purchased at Flourish and Blotts, and this was by far her favorite shop. The walls were lined with shelves floor to ceiling that were crammed full of various assorted volumes; books that were the size of her torso bound in faded leather whose spines creaked when they were opened, books the size of her palm bound in velvet with pages full of the tiniest text Nora had ever seen, books the size of her thumbprint bound in satin with no text on the pages at all. There were beginner's guides to curses, compendiums of hexes and jinxes, and tomes for translating ancient runes. A handwritten sign on the counter read "Invisible Book of Invisibility—Back in Stock! See Associate for Assistance!" With some coercing, Noreen allowed her daughter to purchase a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ , which was not included on her required list of books. As they exited the bookstore, Nora's arms laden with bags, her mother glanced first at her watch and then at the list they had been careful to follow. The final purchase to be made was the one Nora was the most anxious and excited for: her wand.

The bell on the door made a gentle tinkling sound as they entered the narrow, shabby shop, peeling gold letters above reading "Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." The shop's solitary window displayed a lone wand resting on a faded purple cushion beneath a thick layer of dust. Nora blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the interior as her mind worked quickly to do the mental math. It was several seconds before she realized that it was impossible for one person named Ollivander to run a shop for over two thousand years. She stood calmly and quietly at Noreen's side, her luminescent silver eyes scanning the shop; it was tiny and cramped with a single spindly chair nestled in the corner. The walls were like bookcases, but instead of being lined with books they were lined to the ceiling with slender boxes, each bearing a tag that displayed the length, wood, core, and production date. Her mother stepped forward regally and tossed her long blonde curls back, clearing her throat as though asserting her presence. Almost on cue, the man Nora assumed to be Ollivander rounded the corner and spotted her mother.

The man was tall and lanky with long extremities; he seemed to constantly hover, giving off the air of an oversized spider supervising its web. His complexion made him wraithlike in appearance. The smooth alabaster skin on his face was creased and had begun to sag slightly with age; Nora estimated him to be not much older than her father, though he resonated with an ancient aura that permeated the entire shop. He crossed the floor with several long, lithe strides, reaching for her mother's hand.

"Ah, Noreen," Greeting the blonde warmly, Ollivander kept space between them as he kissed the air beside her cheek. Nora caught his eye and he winked in her direction. "It has been too long." Her mother nodded curtly and Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such an expected visit?" Noreen's gloved hand gave Nora a tiny shove forward, and the girl curtsied out of respect, though her eyes were still straying to the labels on the boxes. At a glance, she was able to conclude that there was no rhyme or reason to the organization of the shelves.

"This is my daughter, Eleanor. She just received her Hogwarts letter this week and is in need of her first wand. Who else would I go to in order to cater to my needs, Garret?" Her voice was a lilting lullaby and the coquettish laugh that finished her statement elicited an eye roll from her daughter. Her mother had the unrivaled ability to make people feel important when she was around them; Nora had grown to resent the façade, likely due to overexposure. Ollivander made a sweeping gesture around the shop, indicating the shelves and their many boxes.

"Luckily, you have come to the right place." He stepped forward and offered his hand to Nora, who hesitated before taking it. "My family has been in the wandmaking business for a long time. Wandlore itself is a different branch of magic; not many families still practice it and even fewer are truly adept at the craft." Ollivander's pale thin fingers stretched out her right arm as he gave a flick of his wand to conjure a tape measure seemingly from nowhere. With another wave, the object came to life, measuring her arm while the mysterious shopkeeper bustled between shelves, selecting boxes seemingly at random and piling them atop the counter. "My wands are crafted from trees all over the world, and we use several unique cores, all possessing individual magical properties. The cores are unicorn hair, phoenix feather, and dragon heartstring. I remember every wand I've ever sold, and every person I've ever sold one to." After a long, uninterrupted pause, he approached Nora and offered her the first box in the growing pile. "Wands are often a projection of their owners' character; yours will grow and learn from you the same way you do it." Noreen cleared her throat softly to gain her daughter's attention.

"I do hate to leave you, however my attention is needed elsewhere," She flashed a pearly smile at the shopkeeper, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously as Nora rolled her eyes. The child knew the socialite well and her idea of being needed elsewhere often included her sipping gillywater around a table of other shallow, equally wealthy women. "Your wand will cost seven Galleons, and be sure to tip Mr. Ollivander for his services." She kissed in the direction of Nora's face and was gone before her daughter had a chance to protest. Quite suddenly, Nora found herself very alone with the stranger and she turned to appraise the shopkeeper as he pressed a box into her hand. She raised an eyebrow and regarded the man in silence; he was tall and slender, his skin and hair the same pale shade. His eyes were oddly luminescent and orblike, twinkling as though he were amused by something. "You look so like your mother," he informed her, his voice soft, "though I assume you hear that frequently." Unamused, Nora removed the lid from the box and held the first wand in her small, slightly sweaty hand. The handle was beautifully textured leather, the wood buffed to a satiny sheen; she examined it closely from handle to tip before looking at the shopkeeper for further instruction. He smiled, though the expression was warmer than before. "Aspen and unicorn hair, 10 inches. Inflexible." He paused. "You'll want to give it a wave."

She couldn't help feeling rather foolish as she glanced around the shop, targeting a stack of books on the countertop before giving the wand a halfhearted wave. Nothing happened, and she looked at Ollivander for help as her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He gestured patiently for her to try again and she resisted the urge to sigh aloud, focusing on the books once more. The energy pulsed from her arm into the wand before the stack of books exploded into an asphyxiating mass of papers, causing Nora to duck for shelter. The wandmaker chuckled as Nora hurried to replace the wand in its box, shooting an accusing look in his direction.

"You told me to give it a wave," her voice was obviously annoyed as she glared at Ollivander's back. He muttered quietly to himself as he pulled another box from the pile, waving away a second with his own wand. It flew through the air and replaced itself on the shelf as if undisturbed.

"Were you expecting to get it right on your very first try?" He countered smoothly and she gave him a withering look as he smiled. "That would be an impressive feat, indeed. Alas, your wand must choose you, and clearly that one did not."

 _Clearly,_ she thought scathingly, opening the second box. The wand was crafted from a dark, handsome wood, shorter than the first but flexible.

"Rowan and dragon heartstring, 9 ¾ inches. Reasonably springy." His words were almost a whisper as his pale eyes observed the child. She weighed the wand carefully in her hand, tentative to try a second time and fail to find a compatible one. "There are thousands of wands in this shop, my child. One of them will choose you."

The encouragement was oddly comforting to Nora, who swept the wand in the direction of the analog clock on the wall. The hands began to move faster until they flew around the clock face in a blur and the clock began to chime madly. Ollivander jabbed his own wand at the clock face and the hands stopped dead as he ran a hand through his hair. He peered down his nose at Nora, though it felt as if his lamplike eyes were assessing her soul, before hurrying off between the shelves and disappearing for several minutes. She was grew concerned as his absence stretched, wondering if he had simply given up. He returned slightly short of breath, as though he had been digging to find the box he clutched in his hand. The jet black leather was peeling at the seams, coated in a thick layer of dust, and the label was so faded that the shaky cursive was hardly legible. The shopkeeper placed the box between himself and the child, gesturing towards it in silence. Nora's mouth was dry with anticipation as she reached for the lid, her head full of questions. She hesitated before lifting the cover, waiting for the dust to settle.

The wand was slender and neat, made of wood that was a pale, creamy hue; its surface was the texture of silk, the handle simple and minimalist black leather. Nora's skin pricked with goosebumps as her fingertips brushed the grip for the first time. It felt oddly heavy and warm in her hand and she held it as though it were an extension of her own arm. Ollivander raised his eyebrows in anticipation as it sliced through the air in Nora's grip, silver sparks exploding from the tip like firecrackers.

"Beech and phoenix feather, 11 ¼ inches; quite malleable. How interesting," he mused as he replaced the wand in its box and Nora handed him the coins, regarding him expectantly. "Beech wood is highly prized among wandmakers, not only for its looks but also for its magical properties. Its wielder, if young, is considered to be wise beyond his or her years, rich in understanding and experience. These wands perform poorly for those that are narrow-minded or intolerant. Beech wands are capable of a subtlety and artistry rarely seen in any others. That wand is also one of the oldest in this shop, even older than I." Nora's mind was racing with surprise as she stuck the slender box into her already quite full shopping bag. As if whisked there by a Summoning Charm, Noreen swept ostentatiously through the door of the shop, eyeing her daughter.

"Are we finished? Lovely," Her voice was a bored drawl as though she would have preferred to be anywhere other than witnessing her daughter purchase her first wand. Ollivander gave the affirmation that they were, indeed finished, and Noreen excused herself as quickly as she had come, blowing a kiss in the shopkeeper's direction. She swept from the shop, leaving her daughter in her wake. The child rounded on the wandmaker, and he raised his eyebrows.

"What kind of wand did you sell my mother?" Ollivander sighed, casting his gaze away from the child's prying eyes; she so resembled her mother. "Don't try to tell me you don't remember." Her words held a warning.

"Rosewood and unicorn hair, 8 ¾ inches; brittle." Nora waited for the rest patiently, knowing it would come. "Rosewood displays very weak magical properties, as it is mostly for decoration rather than channeling magic. Unicorn hair produces the least powerful wands and do not take lightly to being misused."


	4. iv

iv.

Nora drew a single black line through the final box on the calendar behind the desk in her father's study and climbed down from Aramis' leather chair to admire her work. Her footsteps were hushed by her socks and she padded down the parquet floor of the corridor to return to her bedchamber; an empty trunk dominated the once-spotless middle of her floor surrounded by neatly organized piles of school supplies. Her acceptance letter lay discarded atop a waist high stack of assorted books and her possessions were organized in a linear fashion to follow the list that had been enclosed among her letter. She had spent the last few weeks systematically packing, unpacking, and repacking her items until she was certain nothing had been accidentally overlooked. For the most part, she had kept to her wing of the estate and left only to take her meals in silence; her father was away exploring a treasure cache discovered on an island in the Mediterranean for Gringotts and her mother's distress over Nora's acceptance to Hogwarts had her starting and ending the days with a glass of wine clutched in her hand.

Since the arrival of her letter, Noreen had taken to avoiding her daughter by excusing herself from breakfast and leaving her in Camille's care; this equally suited Nora, who in turn was becoming increasingly short with her mother. Instead, the child spent her time immersed in her new books, beginning with _Hogwarts: A History_ in an effort to learn as much about her new school as possible before the start of the term. Camille had warned her carefully that she was not permitted to do magic outside of school until she came of age, thus her wand remained in its peeling leather box awaiting her first day of classes. Aramis had returned home that afternoon, albeit later than intended as usual, but was to accompany his family to see his only daughter off to school the next morning. At his request, the entire family including the infant Alexander and his nurse enjoyed a rare dinner crowded together around the vast dining room table; Nora peered pensively at her reflection in the glossy polished surface as everyone ate in silence.

"How are we going to get to King's Cross?" She inquired, finally breaking the silence with a question that had been nagging at her for days. Her father chuckled and smiled affectionately at his daughter as he gestured between himself and Noreen; he had been in good spirits despite the dark circles under his eyes.

"Your mother has arranged an inconspicuous method of transportation for us," He assured her and winked surreptitiously as his wife pressed her lips together in disapproval, sipping quietly from her wine glass. The infinitesimal ascent of his eyebrows as Aramis gauged his wife's intake did not go unnoticed by their daughter, though his attention was diverted when Alexander hurled his spoon at Nora's water goblet. It promptly exploded into glittering pieces as the baby began to wail in despair and the adults rose to their feet in unison to tend to him. To Nora's relief and at her mother's demand, dessert was served promptly following the cleanup and she was excused shortly thereafter to return to packing. She began mechanically placing her possessions into her trunk until everything fit together like puzzle pieces and she was able to do a final check of her list.

Her room felt oddly empty with all of her possessions stored neatly in her trunk for the final time as she lay in bed and gazed up at the ceiling; the clock had chimed minutes prior to remind her that it was nearly two in the morning, but she found herself too excited and anxious to sleep. Instead, she tossed and turned fitfully until she resigned to get up at 6 o'clock sharp and dragged her tired bones out of bed. Not wanting to be seen in public wearing her billowing black Hogwarts robes, Nora dressed simply in a soft gray dress and black tights before making her way to the dining room. Camille was the only member of the house that was awake and Nora found her setting the table for breakfast, sipping from a cup of strong, black coffee as she always had. She smiled at the child fondly as the blonde stood gazing across the grounds of the estate in silence; she bore a striking resemblance to her mother that particular morning. Breakfast proceeded quickly; Nora was entirely too anxious to do more than pick at the heaping pile of eggs and bacon that Camille placed before her, but she made sure to eat enough to satisfy her during the long journey to Hogwarts. Several times she noticed the housekeeper's eyes well up with tears as she beamed proudly at the child, though she was careful not to draw attention to the reaction.

The car that arrived was sleek and shiny jet black, its windows tinted dark enough to obscure the passengers from view; the driver was quick to assist Aramis in loading his daughter's impossibly heavy trunk into the vehicle. She exercised extreme patience with Camille during their tear-filled goodbyes, reminding her that holidays were already not far off; the car's engine purred as they made their way down the drive leading from the manor. The estate shrunk into the distance until it was the size of a postage stamp on the ground far below them. Nora's head snapped around as she looked on either side of the vehicle; fluffy white clouds zipped past the closed windows and her mouth fell open in shock as the family flew towards King's Cross station. Her father chuckled at his daughter's reaction.

"I told you we would be inconspicuous," Aramis reminded her as she gazed, awestruck, at the view below. The driver merged effortlessly as he landed on a freeway and joined Muggle traffic; Nora was stunned that not one of the other drivers even batted an eye at the sight of an automobile hurtling across the London skyline.

The station was a vast building filled with platforms that connected the various trains, which were assembled and numbered in a linear fashion; Nora's father loaded her trunk onto a cart and began to push it down the line of platforms. She counted as the plastic numbers on the wall above their heads ascended until the family stood directly between platform nine and ten, a blank stretch of wall before them. Aramis wheeled her cart around and gave her a gentle nudge forward towards the barrier, directing her path straight at the brick. Glancing at her surroundings, she began to notice that, despite being dressed inconspicuously, there were other children her age toting equally large trunks on their carts. A golden cage rested atop one boy's trunk, holding a mottled gray owl fast asleep with its head under its wing; another girl blowing impossibly large bubbles with a wad of chewing gum wore a shirt that read _The Weird Sisters_ emblazoned across the chest as a tabby cat wound between her feet. One boy was walking directly at the barrier between platforms, his stride a light jog as he weaved through the endless stream of people; Nora tried to cry out and warn him of what he was going to run into, but by the time the crowd had subsided, the boy had vanished. Nora's mouth hung agape in shock and she turned to her father, demanding answers.

"What you need to do," he began, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Is walk straight at the wall between platforms; try not to stop and don't be afraid of crashing into it. If you get nervous, it's best to run."

She wheeled her trolley around and stared at the unforgiving stretch of brick; the wall was inarguably solid and a collision with it was likely to be jarring. Nora started to walk slowly toward the wall, strangers jostling her on either side as the Muggles bustled to go about their daily lives; her heart was pounding in her chest as she increased her pace until she was at a light run. The rough bricks drew closer still and she squeezed her eyes shut and braced for the impact of her trolley against the barrier. After several seconds of running she stopped, panting slightly, and peeked behind her.

When Nora turned to glance over her shoulder, a wrought-iron archway stood against the solid wall of the barrier that she had walked through only moments before, the top reading _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_. A brilliantly scarlet steam engine stood next to a platform belching great clouds of smoke over the heads of the people that swarmed around it excitedly. A sign over head read in gleaming gold letters Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock; the air was hazy with steam as several cats darted between peoples' legs and hissed at one another. Owls hooted reproachfully as they ruffled their feathers inside of cages; it was clear that the clamor made the creatures anxious. The babble of students and the scraping of heavy trunks being loaded onto the train was deafening. There were delighted squeals as friends reunited after a long summer holiday, first-year mothers dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs as they said teary goodbyes, and raucous laughter coming from a group of older boys that stood with their heads bowed towards one another.

Her father pushed her trunk on a cart until they came to the very last compartment on the train; once there, he busied himself with trying to heave his daughter's heavy trunk into a corner to no avail. As if on cue, a boy older than Nora appeared at his elbow; his emerald sweater made it clear that he belonged to Slytherin House and he gestured towards the front of the train, shaking his head and smiling.

"First year?" Nora nodded in silence, preoccupied with taking in every face that walked by her, and the boy offered her father a handshake. "I'm Alexander Harlowe, prefect for Slytherin House," he pointed at the shiny silver pin on the front of his robes, emblazoned with a single letter _P_. "We're actually seating first years at the front of the train currently. I can give you a hand, if you'd like." Aramis grinned as the boy took one handle and hoisted the heavy cargo off of the ground. The group pressed through the crowd that was beginning to thicken as more students and families arrived at the platform; glancing into compartments, Nora noticed quickly that they all had at least one occupant. The group finally located a compartment that was empty; thanking the boy for his help, Aramis shook his hand and loaded Nora's trunk into the far corner. A whistle sounded overhead and the floor beneath their feet gave a rumble as the steam engine came to life. Her stomach knotted nervously and she turned to her father with her face full of questions, eyebrows knitting together as her eyes checked her surroundings to be faced with the cold realization that her mother was nowhere to be found. A sigh escaped her father's lips; it was clear Noreen's absence had not gone unnoticed.

"You mustn't be bitter towards her, you know. She does love you," Aramis' quiet voice sliced through her musings like a sword as he cupped his daughter's chin in his hand and raised her face to meet his gaze; Nora rolled her eyes, reluctant to have this discussion. Her father suddenly pulled her forward, crushing her to his chest in a tight hug, and when he spoke again his voice was low and rough as though he was trying not to cry. "Be good. Be safe. Be smart."

The whistle sounded again and the floor shifted under their feet; the train was beginning to pull out of the station. As soon as he released her, Aramis was gone, leaving Nora to rush to the nearest window and lean as far out as she could to wave. Her father's clean shaven face was glistening with tears as the train began to pull out of the station and build speed until it had rounded a bend and disappeared out of sight; Nora's heart leapt excitedly in her chest and she sat back in her seat to take a deep breath, mind reeling with the morning's events. She had almost forgotten that she was alone when the compartment door slid open and another girl stuck her head inside, ignoring Nora as she entered dragging her trunk; an older girl whose robes also bore a silver _P_ badge shoved the far end until it was nestled snugly in the corner opposite Nora's.

"Sorry, the front's filling up quickly so we might need to triple up on occupants," She shrugged and winked boldly at Nora. "There's so many of you lot this year, we're going to have to feed some of you to the giant squid." The girl laughed unnecessarily hard at her own joke as she gestured her accompanying first year inside and left Nora to face her. She shook her head of blonde curls in disgust before dropping her backpack on the seat and moving to slide the door closed; once she was inside, she drew the shade on the door and took her seat.

"Go on, then." The new girl said, unprompted after a long period of silence, and Nora resisted the urge to glare and roll her eyes. "Your name." Her words came out as a statement rather than a question.

"It's polite to give your own before demanding someone else's," Nora snapped, running low on patience with these strangers and forgetting everything she knew about first impressions. The other girl fixed her with a long, cold stare and Nora braced herself for a shouting match. Much to her surprise, the girl's face broke into a smirk and she chuckled to herself; Nora felt her eyebrows ascend in surprise.

"So you can talk after all." The girl arched her eyebrows and regarded Nora, eyes traveling up and down as if sizing her up before resting on her face. Her eyes were olive green though her pupils were ringed with gold to match the ringlets that spilled over her shoulders. "Alice Mary Benedict." The introduction was said smugly, with the aura of a person that was accustomed to such formality.

"Eleanor Jean Remington." Nora watched with satisfaction as Alice's carefully composed face was momentarily startled; she was used to strangers being familiar with her surname.

"Doesn't your father-?"

"Manage Gringotts?" Nora made a face and Alice's smirk returned. "Yes, and he has for the most part taken up permanent residence at work as of late."

"Yours too? Mine is the Advisor to the Minister of Magic, so they're essentially married." Both girls laughed, but Alice's sounded slightly bitter. "What about your mother?" Nora's mouth closed with an inaudible snap as the anger at her mother flared in her chest like a wound and she struggled to control her facial reaction.

"My mother is a pretty little thing," Nora responded bluntly, not caring to conceal her scathing tone; Alice's smile this time was sympathetic. "She dotes on my infant brother, which is _dreadfully exhausting_." Alice shrugged, turning her gaze to the window; they had left London far behind and were speeding past farmland dotted with fields and the occasional livestock. Before Alice had an opportunity to respond, the door slid open and a third girl slipped inside, closing the door behind her and sprawling out on the seat beside Alice. Nora regarded her with a stoic stare as the other girl turned to Alice and grinned.

"I opened every compartment door looking for you, y'know," She jerked her head at Nora and pulled her feet up on the seat to sit cross-legged. "Who's your friend?" She turned to face Nora, her cherubic alabaster face striking against her flaming red hair. "I'm Louise. I'll assume you had no idea I was coming, judging by your reaction." Louise teased her gently and Nora couldn't help but return her smile; a scratching noise at the door had Louise momentarily puzzled before her face broke into a peal of laughter and she yanked the door open slightly. A visibly agitated tabby cat entered, meowing reproachfully at the redhead and hissing as she stretched her hand out to smooth the fur atop his head. "I'm sorry, Leo, did I forget you again?"

"Leo?" Nora asked tentatively and Louise smiled.

"He's named after da Vinci," She explained quickly. "My mother is the professor of Arithmancy at Hogwarts and she named him." Nora was unsure of exactly what Arithmancy was, but she was unlikely to inform Louise of that.

"Do you know magic already, then?" She was unable to curb her curiosity, worrying briefly that she would be behind an invisible learning curve already, but Louise giggled and shook her head.

"Not yet. Students aren't allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts until they come of age." This was news to Nora, who was secretly thankful that she hadn't tried any of the spells in her schoolbooks yet.

"How do you two-?"

"Know one another?" Louise guessed smoothly before linking her arm with Alice's. "Our parents are old friends, so I've been stuck with this lot my whole life." Alice stuck her tongue out and shook her head in mock disgust, giving her friend a gentle shove.

"The insolence of this one." She rolled her eyes and jabbed her thumb in Louise's direction. "If you're not nice to me, I'll tell your brother and then you'll really get it." Her tone was smug as Louise stifled a gag and turned to Nora, her voice low as if telling a secret.

"Over the summer, I caught my older brother snogging his pillow in his sleep and mumbling about how he has a little crush on Alice." In unison, the girls burst into laughter; Nora was astonished by how easily conversation flowed between the three girls that had been strangers just moments earlier.

There was suddenly a great racket outside as the door of the compartment slid open and a plump, dimple-faced woman poked her head inside. She was pushing along a huge cart piled higher than she was tall with every kind of sweets imaginable: a container stood full of candy wands made out of a sticky black sweet, there was a stack of cauldron-shaped pastries, innocent-looking boxes of jellybeans in every color in the spectrum, long chewy jellies that resembled slugs, brilliantly cobalt pieces of chewing gum that the package claimed could be blown into bubbles that take days to pop, and Chocolate Frogs which were Nora's personal favorite candy.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" The woman asked cheerfully. Alice requested a box of Every Flavour Beans, while Louise purchased a handful of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Nora had to remind herself not to spend all of her money before she even got to school. Not wanting to overdo it, she settled on a Chocolate Frog for each of them, digging in her purse for the money to hand to the trolley lady.

Alice pulled her edition of _Magical Theory_ from her bookbag and upended the box of jellybeans to spill its contents across the hard cover; Louise happily chewed a piece of gum with lips that were stained indigo. Nora opened one of her Frogs in silence and watched as Alice began to sort her Every Flavour Beans by color. The tiny creature was made of smooth, creamy milk chocolate with beady eyes as it turned to croak at Nora, making an attempt at freedom. She caught the frog and bit into it as the initial charm wore off and it solidified once more into candy, digging in the package for the part she truly sought: the trading card bearing a famous witch or wizard from history. Her collection at home was small, just a hobby that was a convenience because Chocolate Frogs were her favorite candy, but she was interested to explore the Hogwarts library and read about the people featured on the cards.

"Who did you get?" Louise was watching her as she chewed and began to form a bubble with her lips; Nora flipped the card over and glanced at the name. The man in the portrait was tall and handsome in his black sweater with his cropped hair swept back effortlessly. There was something about his eyes the color of liquid honey that was oddly familiar as her eyes wandered back to the text and her blood momentarily ran cold. _Taylor Daniel Nott I, Duke of Wales_ , the text read; she was unable to tear her eyes away from the portrait. He could have been his grandson's twin. He smiled up at Nora with a casual elegance that was mirrored in the boy from the party; the image of his hurt, accusing face flashed through her memory like lightning, reminding her with painful clarity of their last meeting. The boy's amber gaze was burned into her memory.

"Just some rich wizard that was only important because of his money," Nora responded, her tone blasé to keep the conversation casual as she clutched the card tightly in her hand. She sat still for several seconds with her mind reeling before she was able to snap back into reality and shove it deep into the very bottom of her bag. Thankfully, Alice directed everyone's attention and spared her from having to offer further explanation.

"Done!" She announced, gesturing to a rainbow of Every Flavour Beans that had been organized by shade and color before her. Nora arched her eyebrows in surprise and Louise rolled her eyes with a laugh; Alice picked up a white bean and nibbled on the end of it tentatively. She paused and chewed with a pensive stare for several seconds before making a face and swallowing with a grimace. "I have this theory—"

"Here we go again." Louise muttered; Alice glared daggers at her.

"I HAVE THIS THEORY," Alice spoke increasingly louder with every word. "That the shades of the beans, not just the colors, have a correlation to flavor, and I'm trying to test the theory." Nora stared at her, unsure of whether to believe what she was saying.

"Why?" Alice burst into peals of delighted laughter and the sound sparkled in the air.

"Why not?" She countered with a playful glow in her eyes; Nora watched as she carefully moved a white bean to another pile of white beans that looked identical. "Dish soap." It took Nora a moment to realize that Alice was answering the question all over her face as she spectated. The girls sat in silence for a time, watching dark forest sprawl out of sight through the window; they had long journey through the countryside and were speeding through the deep woods of Scotland. Alice reorganized beans to different piles as she nibbled at the candies. "Hm. Coconut. Do you have any siblings?" The other girl asked candidly in between musings and Nora rolled her eyes as she nodded.

"I do. My brother is one." Nora shrugged, still sore about her mother's disappearance at the platform. "My mother dotes on the _little prince_." She mimicked her mother's thick accent and hushed voice with astonishing accuracy, noticing how Alice nodded along with her as she turned to face Nora with a sympathetic face.

"My older sister attends Beauxbatons in France, and you would honestly think she hung the moon with the way my parents go on about her. It doesn't help that my younger sister aspires to be a clone of the golden child." Nora felt a rush of empathy for the other girl, comforted by the knowledge that she wasn't alone.

"My brother is prefect in Ravenclaw and his house is very academically competitive, plus my mum is a professor. My parents are expecting me to be Head Girl and get perfect N.E.W.T.s so I can grow up to be Minister for Magic." Louise laughed.

"Do you think you'll be in Ravenclaw?" Nora couldn't contain her curiosity on the subject; despite all of the reading she had done over the summer, she hadn't put much thought into what House she hoped to be Sorted into. Everyone on her father's side of the family had been in Slytherin; Louise shrugged and shook her head slowly.

"I can't say for sure, honestly. I tried to do as much reading as I could on the Sorting process over the summer, but there wasn't much to be found even in _Hogwarts: A History_. It would appear to me that the school is trying to keep the process a secret." Her voice was high with excitement towards the end someone knocked and slid their compartment door open. The older boy was tall and thin like his sister, his hair dark blonde and slightly tousled; they had the same round, soft face and ice blue eyes. He was already changed into his black robes and there was a shiny silver badge bearing a single letter _P_ on his chest.

"I've been looking all over for you," He began crossly, glowering at Louise who raised her eyebrows in mock interest. "We've nearly arrived. You need to change into your robes and gather your things. You shouldn't be wandering around the train to socialize with your friends." At this, Louise rose to her feet until she was nearly nose-to-nose with her brother.

"Lovely to see you, Adam. These are my friends. It would be polite to introduce yourself, don't you agree?" She snapped venomously and the older boy rolled his eyes, turning to open the door once more. He waved over his shoulder idly.

"Fine. Do whatever you please since you're capable of taking care of yourself, right?" Before his sister could answer, he had exited the compartment, slamming the door in his wake so hard the glass rattled in its pane. Louise wrenched the door open and followed her brother furiously; Nora and Alice could hear her begin to shout at him as they made their way down the corridor. The girls exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter until their eyes watered; Alice gestured in the direction Louise had gone.

"That's a daily occurrence between those two," She explained before sweeping the rest of her candy back into its box; both girls began to rummage in their trunks for their uniforms. Louise's tabby cat meowed sullenly, forgotten after having jumped up onto the shelf above their heads, and leapt to the floor with a thump. He voice his complaints loudly at the door until Nora opened it far enough to allow him to squeeze out and she stared after him for a moment, slightly worried.

"Will he be okay by himself?"

"Who? Leo?" Alice's eyebrows knitted together in confusion and she jerked her head in the cat's direction; Nora nodded as she shoved her street clothes back into her trunk. Her friend shrugged. "He's a familiar. He'll find Louise on his own. Cats are reasonably intelligent."

The train seemed to be slowing down as a voice echoed through the train: "We will be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train. It will be transported separately."

Nora's stomach twisted with nerves as the train came to a halt and Alice slid the compartment door fully open; the corridor outside was crammed with people who slowly made their way onto a dark platform that was much smaller than the one at King's Cross. Nora allowed herself to be directed by the stream as the students crowded together in a large group, shivering in the suddenly chilly night air. The darkness lay in an inky blanket over the world as a light came bobbing up the platform to illuminate the sea of students.

"First years! First years follow me!" A male voice called briskly; in the dim light, Nora was able to make out a tall figure wearing a cloak the color of the night sky and a pair of eyes that drooped downward slightly at the outer corners. "First years follow me! Mind your step! We don't need any sprained ankles!"

The group of first years split off from the rest of the students and followed the man down a steep, narrow path that forked away from the platform, leading down a sharp incline that was heavily wooded on either side. The students were mostly silent except for the occasional whispers and the sound of shoes stumbling over tree roots; the woods shielded the path from moonlight and the ground was nearly pitch black. A girl behind Nora caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and she tripped, grabbing Nora's sleeve to catch herself; the girl whispered her thanks as Nora assisted her in regaining her balance. The murmuring grew louder as their descent continued; the students were obviously becoming uneasy and the man with the lamp turned to address the group over his shoulder.

"Patience, please! You'll have your first view of Hogwarts just around the bend!"

Several people gasped as the swarm of first years spilled into the clearing at the end of the path that opened up into a beach on the shore of a massive black lake. The glassy water rippled innocently, lapping the shores and drawing their attention to the castle perched at the top of a mountain on the opposite side. The windows in the towers glimmered like stars against the velvety night sky, reflecting back in the water.

"This way! Follow me!" The guide called, directing their attention to a fleet of tiny rowboats lined up along the sand. "Four to a boat! Quickly now!" Nora was jostled gently by the group of first years as she slid into a boat behind Alice and Louise.

The little fleet began to glide across the lake at once, leaving ripples in their wake that cut across the smooth water; in the distance, something large broke the surface, curling and writhing skyward before plunging into the depths of the dark lake. A few people gasped, one girl screamed softly; Nora had a sneaking suspicion that they were being greeted by a giant squid. The first years quickly fell back into stunned silence as the castle drew still closer; it towered over them as they sailed straight at the face of the mountain.

"Heads down, everyone!" The students bent their heads as the fleet of boats passed through a curtain of ivy that hid a gaping entrance in the cliff; they continued down a long, dark tunnel that appeared to lead directly under the school until they reached an underground marina built on a beach of tiny pebbles. "Right this way! Quickly now!" The first years quickly made their way up a passageway carved from stone until they emerged at last on the damp lawns in the shadow of the castle; their cloaked guide led them up a flight of huge stone steps and the children crowded around a handsome oak door. The students were silent as the man raised his fist and knocked firmly on the castle door, which swung open immediately so they were faced by a petite redheaded witch in midnight blue velvet robes embroidered with miniscule silver stars; she was surprisingly young but had a wise, regal aura about her. She regarded the first years silently for a moment before turning to the man with the lamp as he removed his cloak. He was tall and his black hair was slicked back from his face as he inclined his head towards her. "Professor Evernight." He regarded her warmly. She turned and motioned for group to follow her into the castle, where they stood in a massive stone entrance hall; the walls were lit with torches and an ornate set of marble steps led to the upper floors of the castle. On either side of the staircase stood two towering hourglasses; each was monogrammed, filled with a series of richly colored gems with an animal carved into its wooden base. Professor Evernight led the first years across the smooth flagstone floor and into a smaller chamber off to one side where they crowded around her, whispering nervously.

"Silence please!" Professor Evernight began. "Welcome to Hogwarts. The annual start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you can take your seats, you must be Sorted into your Houses. For the duration of your education at this school, your Houses will be like your family and you are expected to behave as such. You will attend classes, sleep in your dormitories, and spend your free time with your House; your triumphs here will earn you points, any rule-breaking will cause you to lose points. Points are a cumulative scorekeeping method that are used to determine the recipient of the House Cup at the end of every school year. The four houses are Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin; each house has its own individual history and seeks unique characteristics in its students. The House Cup is a great honor and you will be expected to earn it; it isn't something that comes easy, but I believe each of you will play a role in earning your House the Cup. The Sorting will take place in several moments before the rest of your peers. Please wait quietly until I return." Without another word, she swept from the room, leaving the children silently crowded closer than they might have been if not for the nerves that hummed in the air.

"How do they Sort us into our Houses?" A female voice wondered aloud; several people glanced around nervously.

"No one knows," Nora muttered quietly and nearly every head in the room turned to stare at her, horrified; she felt her face flush pink and her ears grew hot. "There isn't any information on the subject in _Hogwarts: A History_. It appears as though the school keeps the ceremony a secret."

"My older brother says you've got to pass some sort of test," Louise piped up, her face pale.

"My sister says it's really hard," Another voice, male this time, chimed in from the back of the group. Nora felt her heart plummet in her chest; she looked around anxiously and saw that her peers seemed just as nervous. The students sat in silence andProfessor Evernight returned just moments later, holding the door to the Entrance Hall open for the first years.

"Form a line," She said and they fell into a single file line behind her. "And follow me." Professor Evernight led the first years across the hall and through a set of polished double doors.

The Great Hall was as magnificent as it was strange; thousands of fat, burning tapers hovered in midair above a sea of students, bathing their faces in warm, flickering candle light. Fluffy gray clouds swirled across the velvety blue ceiling, bewitched to mirror the sky outside, and the pupils were seated around four long tables laid with glimmering golden plates, silverware, and goblets; a fifth table was positioned perpendicular at the head of the Great Hall. The professors were seated at this table already, though the tallest chair stood empty, likely having been vacated by the witch guiding the first years to the platform that stood before the four House tables. A single stool crafted of rough wood had been placed in the center and atop it rested a battered, pointed wizard's hat; it was worn and had been patched in several places. The Great Hall fell silent as the first years assembled facing their peers, and as they waited, a wide rip near the brim opened like a mouth and began to sing.

 _"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
_

 _You can keep your bowlers black,_

 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _The Sorting Hat can't see,_

 _So try me on and I will tell you_

 _Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_

 _Where dwell the brave at heart,_

 _Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

 _Set Gryffindors apart;_

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

 _Where they are just and loyal,_

 _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

 _And unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

 _if you've a ready mind,_

 _Where those of wit and learning,_

 _Will always find their kind;_

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin_

 _You'll make your real friends,_

 _Those cunning folks use any means_

 _To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

 _And don't get in a flap!_

 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

 _For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_


	5. v

v.

The final notes of the Sorting Hat's song reverberated in the air humming with tension as Prof. Evernight unrolled a long piece of parchment, gesturing towards the Hat amid the applause that broke out among the students. The Sorting Hat bowed graciously toward each of the four House tables before becoming still once more.

"When your name is read, we will place the Sorting Hat on your head, you will be Sorted, and then you are free to join your House table," she explained. "Adams, Miranda!"

An olive-skinned girl with glossy black ringlets stepped out of line and approached the stool, visibly trembling; after a moment's pause, the Hat announced: "GRYFFINDOR!"

The scarlet-clad table on the far left exploded into thunderous cheers and applause as Miranda removed the Hat and made her way to her seat, red-faced. A much older girl with a shiny crimson badge over her heart stood to shake Miranda's hand among the chaos.

"Aldred, Daniel!" Nora struggled to swallow the lump burning in her throat, her palms slightly sweaty as the short, stocky boy placed the Hat atop his head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat, and the far right table cheered. Daniel visibly sighed with relief before running off to join his in House in such a rush that he forgot to remove the Sorting Hat and had to return it to Prof. Evernight.

"Bailey, Corinne!"

"RAVENCLAW!" A tall brunette with thick glasses made her way over to sit between her peers among the accolade; the upperclassmen all stood to welcome the first year warmly.

"Benedict, Alice Mary." The other blonde grimaced animatedly at the sound of her full name before tossing her hair over her shoulder and crossing the floor until she reached the stool; the Hat had hardly brushed her hair before it proclaimed:

"SLYTHERIN!" The calIsolde that erupted from the long table made the air tremble with vibrations that reverberated around the Great Hall and nearly every student at the table stood to welcome Alice as their first addition. "Blake, Calen" was also assigned to Slytherin and the chaos became so loud that Prof. Evernight had to call for silence several times before she was able to proceed.

"Carter, Isolde." A pale, wispy blonde with wide green eyes that blinked a lot, as if she needed glasses, made her way to the stool. The Sorting Hat rested upon her head in silence and the seconds began to tick by; almost four minutes had passed before the Hat decided: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Dean, Gregory." A hook-nosed boy with ebony hair and eyes approached the stool and sat, oddly resembling a large bird of prey atop its perch.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Edgeworth, Jaden" was a dark-skinned boy who became the second "GRYFFINDOR!" among the first years, the applause from the scarlet table becoming progressively louder and more enthusiastic.

"Morrison, Cassandra" was Sorted into Ravenclaw; it was impossible to overlook the dwindling number of first years that remained before the High Table, many of them glancing about nervously. Nora saw her own anxiety reflected back at her as she and Louise briefly made eye contact before tearing her gaze away to search for Alice among the Slytherins.

"Norrington, Louise." Her friend's complexion matched her flaming hair as the Sorting Hat slid down over her eyes; several people giggled. The Hat sat on her head for several minutes that seemed to stretch into hours until it announced: "SLYTHERIN!" and Louise' mouth fell open in shock. The deafening cheers from the emerald-clad table reverberated around the Great Hall and the hollow feeling in Nora's stomach grew as Louise ran over to sit next to Alice.

"Pattinson, Sarah."

"GRYFFINDOR!" The line of first years was steadily shrinking until-

"Remington, Eleanor Jean."

She held her breath in silence as her name rang out across the sea of students, every pair of eyes riveted on her petite form. Some faces sported raised eyebrows, displaying a clear interest in the tiny blonde that bore the ancient name. Her face a poised mask, Nora squared her shoulders and strode across the head of the Great Hall to where the battered hat rested upon its stool. Prof. Evernight nodded in acknowledgement as she sat, allowing the Hat to be placed carefully atop her cascade of pale golden hair.

 _I wondered when I might meet you,_ a voice said in the back of her mind, sounding amused.

 _How do you know who I am?_ Nora couldn't mask her curious impulse. The Hat chuckled as her luminous eyes scanned the sea of her peers, resting on the Slytherin table clad in green. The seconds seemed to span into minutes.

 _He's been waiting for you,_ the voice informed her vaguely.

 _Who?_

 _Your next steps will pave the way to your destiny. You will need to prepare yourself._ Nora froze on the stool, her eyes nervously flicking from face to face as she struggled to put a name to the Hat's proverbial wisdom.

 _For what?_ She felt her thoughts becoming increasingly more frantic.

 _For the future_ , the voice chuckled. _Worry not; you are in more than capable hands._ The echoing silence that followed made her increasingly aware that the voice was gone as the tear in the Hat opened once more and it decreed, in an unwavering voice older than time: "SLYTHERIN."

Nora hated to be stared at, but she felt hundreds of prying eyes on her as she strode smoothly across the Great Hall to join her peers at their respective table. The Sorting Hat's parting words had her mind so preoccupied that she hardly noticed Alice and Louise standing on their seats among the deafening roar of cheering from the serpentine House. She had never understood how people could tolerate being observed so closely; she made it a habit to go largely unnoticed. She never made eye contact with any of the others as she passed on her way to her seat, unfocused eyes always fixed straight ahead. Her back was straight, head held high with perfect posture, her steps lithe and confident; she was intrigued by the opportunity to observe her peers and determine the hierarchy that Slytherin House was infamous for. Her silver eyes scanned the faces around her without cease as she slid into an empty seat, eavesdropping on snippets of conversation.

Prey joined the herd, and the boy watched her go with molten golden eyes; since he had glimpsed her from across the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, he had awaited their next encounter knowing it would merely be a matter of time. To the older students, the first years were all prey flocking like sheep into the jaws of wolves. His analytical stare lingered on Nora longer than the others, and her name invaded his mind like poison to claw through the depths of his racing thoughts. She strode with a purpose, a regal air about her despite her size and age as she reached the table with ease, never once reaching to meet any eyes; he wondered idly if she felt his burning amber gaze on her every fluid motion. With a moment's deliberation, he noticed the way she sat quietly, an adept of lurking in the shadows as she glimpsed each of her peers only long enough to make an exquisitely detailed mental image.

A light, involuntary shudder ran down her spine as Nora suddenly became hyperaware that she was not the only one making observations; another pair of eyes was trained on her. She wasn't sure how she knew, or even if the feeling was accurate, but instinct drove her like a predator; her head immediately snapped up as her eyes flicked from face to face, trying to identify the source. When her iridescent silver eyes found him, they locked with the burning gold of his, holding his stare fearlessly. Her face was smooth and stoic, a mask of enigma bearing no traces of emotion, her eyes riveted to those that stared back unabashedly. She knew better than to allow her gaze to wander, knew that his kind had a way of mistaking such an act for weakness. As her eyes were locked with his, "Whitehorne, Dominic" was Sorted into Ravenclaw and Prof. Evernight rolled up her parchment. The silence rang in the Great Hall as she gestured to the sea of students, beaming with her arms held wide in welcome.

"Before we can begin the start of term speech, I would like to share this feast with you all!" Nora tore her gaze away to glance around in confusion at Prof. Evernight's words, her jaw dropping open as the golden platters filled right before her very eyes with mountains of food.

The blonde's eyes had chilled Taylor to the bone, creeping beneath his flesh and filling his veins with ice. Prof. Evernight made her annual start of term greeting and Taylor decided to steal the opportunity; he stood suddenly from his seat at the heart of the table, serpentine eyes of gold fixated upon her. Silent, precarious steps slithered to her side as he sat directly to her left. His movements were quick, deliberate, and aggressive, like an animal. _Like a snake,_ she thought bemusedly to herself, the corners of her lips lifting slightly as she felt him displace the air beside her and slide into an unoccupied seat. Suddenly, those alluring eyes were a mere arm's length away, undoubtedly focused on her face; Alice and Louise glanced first at the newcomer, then at Nora from across the table.

"I remember you," Taylor's words were frank as Nora met the infamous amber gaze of the House of Nott; she knew the ancient magical family bore political status in the Muggle world as well as the magical world. William the Conqueror had been crowned king in return for aiding the Muggles in the Battle of Hastings, making his wife, Herleva Nott, the queen; she was the first to have the hypnotic golden irises. "At the risk of reintroducing myself, I am Taylor Daniel Nott, the Third." His introduction held a snide irony, poignantly reminding Nora of their last encounter without addressing it aloud, and there was a callous negligence woven into his speech. His name was well-known particularly around the pureblood community; he felt no need to embellish with his titles: _heir to the Duke of Wales, Nott Castle and its estates_. His lips formed words that seemed to shimmer in the air like lightning, relishing the titles on the tip of his tongue, though he did not voice them. She stared at him without shame, allowing her eyes to flick from head to toe as she wordlessly sized him up. For a moment, it almost seemed as if she was going to ignore him, look right though him as if transparent and rebuff his presence. Louise had turned towards a student on her right and engaged the boy in conversation as she busied herself with eating; Alice was staring openly and unabashedly at the third year that had taken his seat beside Nora.

"Eleanor Jean Remington," Nora spoke finally, and the words hung like silk in the air. It was such a stuffy greeting, one that had clearly been rehearsed and recited on a regular basis. She turned her torso to allow him to capture her full attention, leaning her elbow on the edge of the table. "We may have met at a social gathering, or whatever. My parents find that sort of social calamity to be entertaining, and have often forced me to suffer through it with them." The blonde's voice was cool as she spoke the simple words, clearly displaying her distaste for the topic. Her lips formed a minute, teasing smirk as she arched an eyebrow. "What do you remember?" The question was spoken with a sickeningly sweet innocence spread over it like treacle, and Nora gazed at him with a glint of malice in her eye through a thick fringe of dark lashes. "Let us not lie to one another, shall we?"

Fixated, like poison running through his veins, her unabashed gaze never wavered, never flickered, and never broke; even as Taylor felt the tantalizing prick of skin writhing under her stare as she studied him meticulously with the keen eye of a master sculptor. Nora's eyes traced the smooth span of his forehead, the strength of his jaw, and the sculpted planes of his face; his dark hair was tousled as though he was constantly pushing it out of his eyes. The French beauceron adored nearly every instance on his person; down to his goblin-wrought sterling silver cufflinks and the ring that encircled the finger of his left hand. The sigil cloaked insecurity, hid well under lock and key like a darkness oozing out of every pore of him. Nora felt her eyes widen slightly as her gaze trailed down his arms to his hands, aware that he was watching her every breath; Taylor had the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to his elbows and his arm bore a long purple scar that started at his wrist and extended past his cuff. His demeanor shifted suddenly when her gaze lingered on the scar for a second too long; the world all around had already melted away, withered to naught but ash. Her soft voice had barely slid over his flesh and permeated his core; muddled confusion swam in the distance there where there had once been proud regality.

"I remember waiting an entire day to meet you," Taylor's articulation was poignant and his unwavering eyes held hers; his hands clenched slightly in frustration as he began to lower the carefully constructed façade that he had presented. "I remember being determined to meet the girl that I was rumored to marry, and I remember the rose." The image of the crimson-edged bloom flashed lightning-fast across Nora's mind; tension shimmered in the air between them like the lull before a storm and the ghost of her anger with him sparked in her chest.

"I find flowers to be such a fickle thing," Nora replied flippantly, meeting his gaze; she read the challenge to assert her dominance in his demeanor and was unwavering as she rose to meet it. "Who decided that an organism which perishes so quickly was intended to represent commitment?"

"That rose was geometrically flawless," Taylor's words were clipped, his tone defensive as he regarded Nora with eyes the color of honey; she raised her eyebrows in surprise at the force of his conviction. His speech paused for a moment as he considered his next words carefully and when he spoke, his voice was low. "It followed the golden ratio perfectly and I selected it just for you."

" _Why?_ "

Nora was unsure of what Taylor had expected her reaction to be, but the shock that flashed across his face surprised even her; he regained his composure quickly and smoothed his face back into an unreadable mask.

"You caught me with my guard down during our last meeting; rest assured that will not happen again," The boy's silky deadpan bore a cool warning tone. "Seeing as this is your first day, allow me to bestow some wisdom upon you." Nora rolled her eyes, sipping her pumpkin juice with a flagrant disregard, and white hot anger flared in Taylor's chest. "You would do well to evaluate what kind of relations you want to have with your peers while you are attending Hogwarts; there are several of us whom it would be best not to anger." The last phrase came out as a sneer as her acquaintance stood suddenly, excusing himself to return to his seat among the upperclassmen; Nora recognized the tall blond boy adjacent to Taylor as his friend from Diagon Alley.

" _Who_ the bloody hell was _that_?" Alice demanded indignantly and Nora struggled to tear her gaze away, returning her attention to the table as the remains of their dinner vanished and were replaced by assorted desserts. She helped herself to a particularly large slice of lemon meringue pie, trying to remain blasé about the conversation she'd just had with Taylor. When she looked up to reply to her friend, she saw that his eyes were locked on her face.

"Just some brat that thinks he's special because he knows my parents," Nora was careful to slowly enunciate every syllable, taking great satisfaction in the way the boy's eyes of liquid amber hardened and became cold; his demeanor made it obvious that he was hanging on her every word.

When the remains of the desserts had disappeared, leaving the plates and goblets sparkling, the Great Hall fell silent and the sea of pupils turned to see that Prof. Evernight was on her feet once more with her wand in hand. With a flick of her wand, a single tiny scroll appeared on each student's plate, bound with a ribbon of black satin; Nora recognized the hand that had penned the notices as the same one that had written her acceptance letter.

"Now that our hunger has been satisfied, and before I bid you all goodnight, I have a few start-of-term notices to present you." Prof. Evernight recited the words on the scrolls from memory as the students followed along.

"First years should take note that the dark forest on the grounds is a prohibited location, therefore entering it will result in disciplinary action. Older students would do well to re-familiarize themselves with this policy, and are reminded that we discourage the luring of younger students into the forest, as it is a direct threat to physical safety." An older boy at one end of the Slytherin table coughed to mask a snicker, and Prof. Evernight raised her eyebrows in his direction before continuing on as the boy's ears grew red.

"I have also been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Young, to remind all students that no magic should be performed in the corridors between classes; this includes, but is not limited to, recreational dueling and the practicing of various hexes on your peers." Several upperclassmen at the Ravenclaw table grinned sheepishly and averted Prof. Evernight's disapproving gaze.

"Finally, Quidditch trials will take place the second week of the term, per usual; all students are encouraged to try out. Any questions should be directed at Madame Mailloux; a sign-up sheet will be posted outside of her office door."

"Too bad first years aren't allowed our own brooms," Alice hissed and Louise shushed her.

"And now, it is bedtime! Goodnight, my loves!" The headmistress cried; on cue, each House's prefects rose and began gathering their respective first years in an orderly fashion.

"First year's follow us!" Nora recognized the older boy that had helped her carry her trunk at Platform 9 ¾ shouting over the heads of her peers as they formed a line; the prefect girl from the train walked up and down the line, doing a quick head count until she was certain they hadn't missed anyone.

Yawning widely and dragging their feet, the Slytherin first years followed the prefects through the Great Hall and past the sweeping staircase, back into the Entrance Hall; Nora began to notice for the first time that the walls were lined with framed pieces of art that ranged from portraits to landscapes, and the frames' occupants were moving about, waving excitedly at the new students. They crossed the smooth flagstone floor of the Entrance Hall, the prefects leading the first years through a part of the castle that featured a vaulted stone cathedral ceiling and high windows. The floor was inlaid with a massive Hogwarts' crest and at the opposite end of the room was a sweeping stone staircase; at the top of this staircase, a stood of armor rattled as it paced back and forth. The prefects brought the group to a sudden halt, Alexander holding one arm out to stop the first years from passing him.

"Causing trouble already, Peeves?" The prefect boy arched one eyebrow as the suit of armor lifted its gauntlet and held up its middle finger; a loud, wet raspberry sounded from beneath the helmet's visor. There was a deafening crash as the armor collapsed in a heap and a little man with a wide mouth and mischievous eyes appeared before the students.

"Oooh! Fresh meat!" He cackled gleefully before swooping at the first years, who ducked and dove out of his path. He doubled over in the air with wicked laughter. "Ickle firsties! Such fun!" He floated lazily over to Alice, offering his finger to her as she regarded him with disgust. "Pull my finger!"

"That's _enough_ , Peeves." A female voice commanded; the first years looked around in confusion, someone screamed softly and several people gasped. Ethereal beings of silvery vapor phased through the wall before the students, led by a female sporting a floor length cloak; she was beautiful with brunette hair that reached her waist, but there was an unmistakably haughty and proud aura about her. Her face was a smooth, serene mask as she regarded the poltergeist coolly. Peeves took two running steps before punting the helmet down the corridor where it clanged and echoed loudly. " _Enough, Peeves, or would you like to speak with the Baron about your behavior before the start of term?"_ Peeve's face fell; turning an about-face, he saluted the ghost of the woman before blowing one last raspberry as he zoomed away, cackling madly and rattling suits of armor.

"Good evening, Grey Lady." The female ghost inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement when the prefect girl spoke, her luminescent face serene as she regarded the first years.

"I spoke to the Baron regarding Peeves' behavior just this morning; it appears we shall have to readdress the issue," The Grey Lady deadpanned; several of the other ghosts were nodding in agreement.

"I do believe it may be time to hold a ghost's council regarding the matter," The ghost of a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead interjected and an approving murmur ran through the other wraiths; one ghost resembling a mounted knight brandishing a severed head raised the grisly trophy in his clenched fist with a resounding "Huzzah!" The Grey Lady lingered for a moment before gesturing to her fellow ghosts and disappearing through the opposite wall.

"Peeves is famous for being the most malevolent and persistent poltergeist in history. You lot ought not to come across him in passing between classes; a run-in with Peeves is worth two dead ends and a trick staircase when you're in a hurry." Alexander informed the first years grimly as they continued away from a large wooden set of double doors and through an archway. "He doesn't even listen to Prof. Evernight. The Bloody Baron is the only one who can rein him in." From the archway led a narrow spiral staircase that opened up into a long, gloomy stone corridor; at one end of this stood a staircase that led down to a blank stone wall. The prefects stopped before the blank stretch of stone, gesturing for the first years to gather closely. "Boomslang skin," Alexander said, and the wall neatly slid aside to reveal a narrow stone corridor with a greenish light emanating from the end.

The students shuffled single file through the stone passage until it opened up into a large dungeon-like room lit by lamps that sported emerald green shades; it extended partially under the lake, making the velvet-curtained windows similarly tinted green. The room was filled with several large black leather button-tufted sofas, matching chairs, and writing desks; large plush rugs covered most of the floor and there were many tapestries on the walls that depicted the adventures of famous Slytherins. A fire was crackling cheerfully in an ornately carved fireplace and there was a painting of a serpent hung above the mantel, below which rested an analog clock; the first years huddled together around the prefects and a few people yawned sleepily. The clock chimed nine times and Nora's mind reeled at the idea that she had departed for King's Cross just hours prior.

"Boys, your dormitory is through that door on your left," The prefect girl said, gesturing to a handsome door made of dark wood on their left. "Girls, the same on your right. Classes start tomorrow, and punctuality is mandated. Lights out in half an hour."

The décor of the dormitories matched that of the common room; the furniture was crafted from dark, handsome wood and their bedding was emerald green. Each student was assigned a four-poster bed that featured thick velvet hangings that was coordinated to their duvet; their trunks had already been relocated and were sitting open at the ends of the beds. The girls changed in silence, too full to converse, before pulling back the hangings; atop each first year's pillow was a tiny scroll bound with a green ribbon.

From _the_ desk _of_

Andrew Lecuyer

Salutations, first years; as your Head of House, Andrew Lecuyer, it is my great honor to welcome you to Slytherin House. Our founder, Salazar Slytherin, instructed the Sorting Hat to seek a few particular characteristics that he most valued in his students, specifically: cunning, resourcefulness, ambition, and leadership. All of you have been Sorted into Slytherin House because you either embody or value the same characteristics as our founder. We take pride in our sense of fraternity; your peers will be your family for the duration of your education and you are expected to respect one another as such. A certain standard of behavior will be expected from all students. The House Cup is awarded at the End-Of-Year feast, and winning it is a team effort. Your Hogwarts career will last seven years; what you choose to accomplish in that time is your own choice, and my job is to ensure that you are provided the resources to do so.

The emblematic animal of our house is a serpent, and our colors are green and silver; additionally, Slytherin House corresponds roughly with the element of water as snakes are regarded as fluid and flexible animals. Our patron ghost is the Bloody Baron, whom it would be best not to anger. You will require a password to enter the common room, which changes every fortnight and will be posted to the notice board. The Slytherin Common Room is a recreational area where you are free to make yourselves at home, but be aware that mandatory quiet hours will be enforced during final exams. The dungeon windows look into the depths of the Black Lake, and the giant squid often passes by along with other marine magical creatures.

Attached you will find a copy of your schedule. Classes begin in the morning and we expect punctuality at all times.

In the meantime, you'll sleep well; it's very soothing, listening to the lake water lapping against the windows at night.

Your Head of House,

Andrew Lecuyer

 _Deputy Headmaster_

 _Professor of Transfiguration_

Nora's eyes quickly skimmed the words as she stifled a yawn; a brief glance at her class schedule indicated that her first day of classes was going to be a long one. The very thought was exhausting; she wondered idly if her peers knew any magic already as she crawled into bed. Snuggling into her blankets, she drifted into a deep sleep that was permeated by golden irises and a dark aura.


	6. vi

vi.

"Get up, you lot. I want breakfast," Alice's impatient voice was accompanied by a pair of thick, knitted socks soaring through the air towards Nora's head; she yanked the blankets up instinctively for protection and eyed the analog face of her watch. Groaning inwardly, Nora burrowed deeper into the plush softness of her bed, enveloped in the warmth of the down blankets. Louise and Alice were already awake and dressed for their first day of classes; the redhead was perched patiently on her bed as Alice seized Nora's linens and pulled. Nora found herself very suddenly exposed to the chill of the dungeons, shivering slightly in her pajamas as she rose and sent her pillow sailing towards Alice. She rummaged through her trunk for a set of her black school robes; dressing quickly, she tugged her uniform over her tousled locks before running her fingers through the ends and gathering her book bag. "You look stunning, as per usual. Are you ready yet?" Louise made a face.

"You're one to talk," She shook her head and jerked her thumb in Alice's direction. "This one was up promptly at six o'clock and has been an unstoppable force of nature since her eyes opened."

The three girls made their way back to the Great Hall, shuddering in the dampness of the stone dungeons; Nora was exceptionally grateful for the aroma of bacon drifting towards them through the wide doorway. Serving plates were piled high with traditional breakfast fixings of all kinds: crispy bacon, slices of smoked ham, roasted potatoes, fried eggs; Nora counted at least three different kinds of toast, porridge with berries on top, and fluffy pancakes. The students chattered quietly amongst themselves and the air was humming with anticipation; it was comforting to see that she was not the only one excited to begin learning.

"All indoor classes today, thankfully; Double block of Transfiguration with the Gryffindors before lunch," Louise mused, poring over their schedule between bites of porridge spread thick with treacle. Alice mumbled unintelligibly in response around a mouthful of pancakes and bacon; Nora rolled her eyes and nudged a goblet of pumpkin juice towards her friend, who took a long sip. The bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall was dark with heavy gray clouds that roiled and swirled above the students' heads as large raindrops began to pelt the wide windows. "History of Magic after that; Adam says that class is dreadfully boring."

"We'll get to meet our illustrious Head of House." Nora's words were optimistic as she piled eggs and bacon on her plate and set to work shoveling her breakfast into her face; her skin pricked slightly as though someone was watching her. Opalescent eyes scanned the emerald-clad table, and she stifled a groan when her eyes locked with Taylor's honey-colored gaze; he was quick to tear his gaze away this morning, much to her satisfaction.

"Who _is_ that?" Alice's sharp voice sliced through the building tension and Nora turned to find her friend glaring at him unabashedly, her verdant eyes narrowed as her nose wrinkled in distaste. "The way he looks at you is creepy."

"I'm almost certain he's a vampire and wants to drink my blood so he can force me to be second in command of his legion of the undead," Nora replied idly; she kept her eyes focused on her food, her tone light and blasé to prevent her friends from becoming increasingly curious about the boy, with whom she was beginning to lose patience. She turned back to find both of her friends' mouths agape in shock and a peal of laughter burst from her; the sound was like bells. "I'm kidding. His father is a friend of my father's. Y'know, general business and social networking." Louise snorted derisively.

"Yes, because you're so committed to taking over the family business and becoming a banker, aren't you?" The redhead teased and Nora felt her cheeks grow warm as her face flushed in embarrassment.

"What, don't I look the part to you?" Nora countered playfully.

The lighting in the Great Hall suddenly became dappled and mottled as hundreds of rustling wings announced the arrival of an array of owls streaming in through various windows; they circled overhead before finding their owners. Some simply dropped their parcels onto their owner's laps, others made lazy spirals downward to perch atop the tables and nibble on a bit of toast before taking flight once more. Louise craned her neck at the flurry of feathers, trying to catch sight of the owl she and her brother shared.

"Expecting letters from your dozens of admirers already?" Alice's words elicited a dramatic eye roll from the redhead, who drained her goblet and stood, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

"Are you lot ready?" Louise spoke as if she hadn't heard Alice, winking in Nora's direction; taking a cue, Nora emptied her own goblet and stood. "I don't want to be late for our first class."

There were one hundred forty-two staircases in Hogwarts Castle: stately ones hand-carved from stone, ornate, sweeping ones made of marble, narrow spiral ones that wound up towers and out of sight, rickety ones, some with a trick step that would hold onto a person's leg until another student pulled them out, some led up, some led down, and some led entirely different places depending on the time and day. The task of navigating the staircases became as much a learned skill as magic would prove to be for the girls as they made their way up to the fourth floor for their first class. The castle appeared to possess a sentience that allowed it to change at will, making it difficult to remember where everything was located.

It didn't help that Peeves the Poltergeist made a point to go out of his way to acquaint himself with the first years; any directions given by Peeves were a guaranteed ten-minute time commitment when a person was already running late. He would wreak havoc in the kitchens regularly, stealing butter and using it to grease stairs and railings until they were treacherously slick. When he wasn't lubricating the staircases, he could be found shoving wads of chewing gum into keyholes and pouring hair removal potion into bottles of shampoo.

The other ghosts inhabiting the castle were all reasonably benevolent; they were always willing to offer directions to lost students, with the exception of the ever-silent Bloody Baron. The Baron was a gaunt, staring figure with bloodstained robes and bearing heavy chains. He scarcely interacted with the students except to interrupt Peeves' general ruckus and dismiss him firmly, with a blank stare.

Magical Theory was their first class of the day and it was taught by Professor Valerie Byrne in Class 67; Nora was grateful to see that other first years were equally late as the three girls entered class, though Prof. Byrne proved to be easily the most casual of all their teachers. She was middle-aged and pudgy with mousy, gray-streaked hair and thick glasses that magnified her watery blue eyes. Ignoring the roll call altogether, she sat atop her desk and lazily flicked her wand at the blackboard, where letters appeared at once.

"This class," She began, peering from student to student. "Is a first year requirement. It covers magic from a purely theoretical standpoint, including the topics of how spells work and the restrictions on spellcasting." Prof. Byrne waved her wand at the words on the board and the letters began to rearrange themselves. "Tamper with the deepest mysteries - the source of life, the essence of self - only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind; this is the first fundamental law of magic. Our first few classes will cover the theory of equivalent exchange and the consequences of spellwork; if you would open your books to the first chapter."

The rest of the class was spent taking careful notes; despite her casual demeanor, Prof. Byrne assigned them five chapters of reading and twelve inches of parchment on how the first fundamental law of magic applied to everything they had learned during their first week of classes, due that Friday.

Transfiguration was held in a high-ceilinged white stone room featuring a raised granite platform surrounded by wooden desks; atop the platform was a blackboard for the professor to use and a lectern which held a cage containing three scurrying white mice. Equally high windows and bookcases lined the walls and gave a sweeping view of the castle grounds behind the podium; the scarlet-clad Gryffindor first years were mostly already seated as the Slytherins made their way into the room and each student took a desk close to the front. This was the class Nora had been looking forward to the most; it was renowned for being one of the most difficult, and therefore easily the most discussed among pupils. Prof. Lecuyer was young and handsome with an angular jaw and dark hair that was effortlessly pushed back from his face as though he had just run his hand through it; tiny crow's feet wrinkled the corners of his eyes as he smiled with one side of his mouth. He arched one eyebrow and inclined his head as the three girls took their respective seats, taking out his wand and waving it absently at the blackboard. At once, thin white script curled across the black surface like a spiderweb as it formed words in a familiar handwriting; Prof. Lecuyer stepped out from behind the lectern and cleared his throat loudly to call for silence.

"Salutations, first years," he winked at Alice and she blushed magenta to the roots of her golden curls. "Welcome to Transfiguration. In this class, you will learn to alter the appearance and form of an array of objects. This branch of magic is more difficult and more scientific than Charmswok; Transfiguration is an alphabet, a formula, and an art form all at once." A brunette girl with a pixie cut was furiously scribbling notes on Nora's right as their professor gave his introduction; noticing this, Prof. Lecuyer paused for a moment to allow her to catch up before continuing. With a wave of his wand, the letters on the board rearranged themselves into letters and corresponding runes. "Transfiguration is a very exact, systematic magical discipline; those interested in becoming proficient in it will need to learn this alphabet as if it is a second language." Another wave caused a scientific formula to appear below the alphabet; almost every student reached for parchment and a quill while Prof. Lecuyer spoke, and the first years were hastily jotting notes as he dictated. "You will learn quickly that Transfiguration is much more than twirling your wand and memorizing unfamiliar words. When Transfiguring, it is important to be firm and decisive in your movements; this will require you to be confident in your magical abilities."

With that, Prof. Lecuyer reached into the cage and gently caught one of the mice in his hand; he placed it on Louise's desk and aimed his wand at it. Nora caught the fleeting smirk he gave the class as the mouse was Transfigured into a crystal snuffbox right before their eyes. The students met each other's gaze with a mix of eagerness and anticipation, restless to get started; Prof. Lecuyer instructed them to copy the notes down as he distributed a series of bottle caps to each of the first years, whereupon they were charged with Transfiguring it into a button. They were all frustrated and hungry by the end of the double block, and only the Gryffindor girl with the pixie cut had managed to get her bottle cap to even resemble a button by the end of the lesson. Prof. Lecuyer showed them all how it had become smooth and shiny before awarding Gryffindor five points. Her ears burned red and she averted Prof. Lecuyer's eyes as he praised her work to her peers; Nora was fairly certain that the girl was going to completely disappear if she slid any lower in her chair. After assigning their homework, Prof. Lecuyer dismissed the students several minutes early.

"He's brilliant, really," The apples of Louise's cheeks flushed and she pushed her bag under her seat; Nora felt her eyebrows knit together slightly in confusion.

"Who? Lecuyer? I mean yeah, I guess," She shrugged with flagrant disregard for the way Alice turned to gawk at her, mouth agape.

"You _guess_. You're such an elitist," Nora glared at Alice as she spoke, her tone playful. "Not only is he _gorgeous_ , he's essentially an academic prodigy."

"No he actually is brilliant, and I'm talking certified genius," Louise's face turned serious as she reached for several pieces of cold chicken and a pickle. "He interned as Junior Undersecretary to the Minister immediately after graduating from Hogwarts with perfect N.E.W.T.s in eight subjects. He was hired as part of a think tank working on a cure for dragon pox. He's a registered Animagus; he wrote a dissertation on the versatility of eye of newt in potion-making, he has an Order of Merlin, First Class for his services to the Ministry during the giant negotiations last year, and now he's both the head of the Transfiguration department as well as

deputy headmaster. He's only like twenty-three."

"And this is Louise, the sentient encyclopedia," Alice teased; Louise rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at her friend, who pretended not to notice as she innocently ate her lunch.

"I wonder why someone so well-rounded would settle for teaching at Hogwarts," Nora mused quietly, watching as Prof. Lecuyer assumed his seat at the High Table; a blonde teacher whose skin was peppered with freckles smiled warmly and greeted him. They chatted for several moments before Nora noticed him gesture at the Slytherin table; the woman looked directly at Nora and waved. Nora froze as she glanced at her surroundings, feeling paranoid only to stifle an audible sigh when she saw Louise return the greeting with a smile.

"That's my mom. She's the head of the Arithmancy department," The similarities between Prof. Norrington and her children were striking; they had her soft, rounded face, porcelain complexion, and cerulean eyes.

"What does she think about you being Sorted into Slytherin?" Nora felt herself blurt out the words before she had time to consider her actions and her face quickly grew hot and flushed in embarrassment; Louise laughed.

"She thinks that I'm cunning and ambitious just like the Sorting Hat did, and that's more than enough for her as long as I'm not performing blood sacrifices in the Slytherin dungeon during my free time or any rubbish like that."

"I mean, she doesn't necessarily have to know either way," Nora deadpanned before bursting into laughter as her friends turned in unison to stare at her in surprise. They ate quickly and it seemed as though they had only been chatting for a moment before the girls found themselves making their way to classroom 4F.

History of Magic was the unparalleled most boring class in their schedule; it was taught in a tiny, cramped classroom with a fire constantly crackling in the stone fireplace, making the whole room stifling hot. This went largely unnoticed by Prof. Binns, who lacked a physical body as a ghost and therefore had no perception of temperature. After lunch, the Slytherin first years found themselves struggling to keep their eyes open as they took notes in the sweltering heat. Prof. Binns had been exceptionally elderly when he'd fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and died, leaving his body in his wake; it was rumored to have taken him several hours to notice that he was phasing through solid objects before it came to his attention that he'd become detached from his physical manifestation. He would drone on and on in a monotone that Nora had trouble paying attention to as she struggled to memorize dates and names that all sounded similar.

The Slytherins were grateful to leave the stuffy heat of their History of Magic classroom and make their way into the dungeons for their first Potions class; the air was significantly cooler here and was bracing against Nora's face. Everyone was yawning widely as they descended the Viaduct Tower stairs, several people were rubbing their eyes and dragging their feet. The Potions dungeon was a long, low-ceilinged room made of cut stone blocks; the walls were lined with shelves crammed full of assorted potion ingredients: some were in glittering crystal phials, some were suspended in liquid inside of jars, others were in bottles corked with a rubber stopper. Tables seated two students with their cauldrons between them, and there was a low platform for the professor to give demonstrations. The Slytherins were the first to arrive after their short walk from classroom 4F; the Ravenclaw first years had clearly not yet been to the dungeons as they trickled in. Louise and Alice sat at a table together; leaving Nora paired with Calen Blake, a boy she vaguely recognized from the Sorting. The students murmured quietly amongst themselves for several minutes before their instructor swept briskly into class. She appeared to be around the same age as Prof. Lecuyer, with blonde hair so pale that it shone silvery in the torchlight of the dungeon; her eyes were a clear aquamarine behind the frames of her glasses. She gave a single wave of her wand, causing words to appear on the blackboard.

"Good afternoon, class," When the teacher spoke, her voice was soft and her words were crisp. She had the uncanny ability to silence a classroom almost immediately. "My name is Prof. Theresa Beckett. I would like to begin by welcoming you to Hogwarts; this school is renowned all over the world as one of the best educational institutes for magic in the world. Your career at Hogwarts is not going to be an easy one, but I can assure you that anything you could ever need to learn can be found here, for those willing to take the time to look." Prof. Beckett strode over to the worktable atop the platform and uncovered a copper cauldron brewing over the fire. "When you come to my lessons, you will do so with your books out and your wands ready; potionmaking is first and foremost a science, to which you will need to apply yourselves hands-on. To succeed in this class, you will need to be confident in your mistakes and willing to learn from them; there's no going back in potionmaking. Once you add something to your cauldron, you cannot take it out, so you might as well commit to your errors." She paused, adding a pinch of shimmering powder to the gently simmering blue liquid inside of the cauldron before stirring several times and dropping in a pair of glossy red berries. With one final stir, Prof. Beckett gave her wand a wave towards the cauldron and its contents turned a brilliant teal; Nora applauded accordingly alongside her peers and the words on the blackboard shifted once more to instruct the students to turn to the designated page in their textbooks. "Today we will begin by brewing a simple Antidote to Common Poisons; you are encouraged to open your textbooks and begin immediately."

Potion-making, Nora quickly discovered, was rhythmic bliss; she found great satisfaction in carefully crushing a bezoar into a fine powder with the mortar and pestle, scooping and measuring herbs using crystal vials and brass scales. _Magical Drafts and Potions_ was a remarkably straightforward textbook, complete with diagrams and instructions, along with footnotes detailing each ingredient and its properties; Nora found herself completing the steps with plenty of time to spare. She positioned her cauldron over the flame and, with the addition of heat, the swirling, lumpy substance inside emulsified into a glossy, fluorescent green liquid. Nora's cheeks flushed pink as Prof. Beckett, pacing up and down the aisles between tables, descended on her workstation to look into her concoction; her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that it was several moments before she realized that her work was being praised. Nora's peers were encouraged to watch her intently as she waved her wand over the bubbling surface, turning the color a brilliant cobalt blue; glancing at Prof. Beckett for a moment's validation, she was elated to earn a smile along with ten points for Slytherin. Nora's antidote was required to simmer gently over the fire for an extended period and she stole an opportunity to glance over at Alice and Louise's table; she was forced to bite back a smile upon seeing that their potion had turned a sickly shade of green and become gelatinous, and her friends were arguing in low voices about what could have possibly gone awry.

"How are you doing that?" Calen's voice pierced through her internal rambling and she turned to find him staring at her in awe; he had hardly moved at all during their lesson, except to hand Nora ingredients as he gazed at her in bewilderment. She shrugged, struggling to maintain a casual outlook in an effort to not attract more attention.

"I don't know, honestly. This is hardly difficult, and I trust my intuition," In her peripheral vision, Alice turned to playfully roll her eyes and stick her tongue out at Nora, who smirked in response. As the end of the class drew close, Prof. Beckett called for everyone's attention and gathered the students around Nora's table.

"Excellent work, Miss Remington," The corners of her lips lifted slightly and she gestured toward the cauldron as it brewed over the flame. "Would you like to demonstrate the final steps for the rest of the class?"

Steadying her hand and concentrating on remaining focused on her task, Nora gathered a generous pinch of unicorn horn from a small dish and sprinkled it into the cauldron before stirring it twice, clockwise. The mistletoe berries splashed innocently into the liquid and she gave her antidote a quick stir in the opposite direction; holding her breath, she steeled herself and gave a wave of her wand. At once, the potion took on a brilliant teal hue and the students broke into awed applause; Nora took the opportunity to glance around at her peers' work and was internally pleased to see that none of the other students had even coerced their potions to turn blue, let alone the coveted turquoise that hers had become. Professor Beckett dismissed the class early, leaving everyone in good spirits as she assigned two chapters of reading and the collection of Befuddlement Draught ingredients as homework.

"' _I just trust my intuition,_ '" Alice teased her as the three girls left the Potions dungeon and took a detour through the corridors to discard their heavy bags in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. "Whatever you say." Louise cleared her throat to hide a giggle. "Nothing is going to convince me that you haven't been brewing potions at home after that little display." Nora rolled her eyes in response, dropping her books onto her perfectly-made bed before stopping dead.

"Wait, who made my bed after we left this morning-?" She asked, momentarily distracted.

"Adam says there are gnomes that live all over the castle to do maintenance, but it's probably house-elves that work for the school; gnomes are common household pets, and they're not very smart. It's unlikely that they could be trained to do any kind of menial task." Louise pointed out how the corner of Nora's sheets was turned down at a perfect forty-five degree angle.

"What is a house-elf?" Nora asked curiously, and Louise looked at her in confusion.

"Your family doesn't have a house-elf? I thought they were the norm among pureblood families." Even Alice looked surprised by the idea that Nora had never heard of such a creature. "House-elves are magical beings that are 'employed', and I do use that term loosely, to serve wizarding families. They designate a family as their masters, and dedicate their lives to serving them."

"So they're slaves," Nora felt her nose wrinkle slightly, her words were blunt; Louise flinched at the term.

"House-elves serve willingly, and they can be set free if their master presents them with clothing," She supplemented.

"Wait the _Remington_ family doesn't have a house elf? Who does all of your cleaning?" Nora laughed lightly at the absurdity of the conversation.

"Camille, our housekeeper?" Both of her friends looked genuinely awed by this information and Nora shifted uncomfortably. "Do you both have house-elves?"

"Yes. Addie has been with my family for longer than I've been alive." Louise's voice was gentle as she dug in her trunk for a small soft-cover photo album and handed it to Nora. A tiny creature with a button nose and large, bat-like ears that flopped slightly into her face smiled up at Nora from the photograph. She was dressed in a crisp white linen towel that had been tied and folded to resemble a toga, and she waved excitedly before running out of the picture. She returned only a moment later, dragging a male house-elf who was dressed in a similar fashion by his arm; he righted himself and adjusted his towel before joining her in waving at the three girls.

"Winston lives in Lisbon with my mother," Alice pointed at the male house-elf and smiled fondly. "I don't see him often. I'm actually surprised that Addie knew I had a picture of him in my trunk." Louise stored the album back in her trunk and the girls departed quickly, enthusiastic to eat dinner. "Regardless, don't change the subject," Alice chided gently. "Where did you learn potion-making? Does your father have a side gig?" Nora sighed exasperatedly, climbing the stairs two at a time.

"I didn't. Honestly, I probably know far less magic than either of you, and that includes making potions." She shrugged, seating herself at the emerald-clad serpentine table; it took until she had the opportunity to turn and face the heaping plates of food that she realized how ravenous she was. "I just follow the directions."

"That can't have been your first time," Alice pressured her, dishing each girl a heaping plate of stew and reaching for a basket of buttery rolls. Seizing one, she took an enormous bite only to give a quiet whimper and exhale a cloud of steam; Louise rolled her eyes and shoved a frosty glass of pumpkin juice towards Alice, who nearly drained it in one gulp.

"You're so classy. I didn't know you were a debutante." Nora deadpanned at Alice and Louse snorted as she swigged from her own goblet.

"I can't believe some peoples' inability to keep their eyes to themselves." Alice snapped suddenly, her voice rose a little louder than necessary; several people surrounding them glanced at the three girls with arched eyebrows, and Nora's head whipped around, eyes searching the table.

"What are you-?" Louise followed her gaze to the person Alice was openly glaring at, her food untouched as she was locked in a standoff with some unlucky spectator.

"Ugh." Nora's scoff was sufficient response as her eyes found Taylor unashamedly observing her; Alice's aggressive word choice had elicited a scowl from him, and the older boy glared at her with narrowed eyes that were the color of honey.

"You would think, coming from such a reputable family, that some people would have learned by now that staring is rude." Alice raised her voice poignantly, ensuring that Taylor would hear her every word; Nora was sure she could see the muscle in his jaw tighten as he kept his mouth firmly clamped shut, and she permitted herself a chuckle at his expense.

"You would think." Nora agreed, tilting her head slightly as if challenging him; his eyes hardened visibly, sending a shudder down her spine that chilled her to her toes. She was saved from a standoff by Alexander Harlowe, who leaned over Taylor's shoulder and muttered something in his ear before departing as quickly as he'd appeared; Nora's eyebrows arched infinitesimally as Taylor averted her eye. Leaving his dinner mostly untouched, he stood and swept from the Great Hall in silence; Nora's keen gaze caught the eye of several other females that stared hopefully in Taylor's wake, and she suppressed the reflex that told her to roll her eyes.

"I can't wrap my head around what everyone sees in him," Alice mumbled idly as she continued to shovel stew into her mouth; Nora shrugged and picked at her food for several seconds, curiosity burning inside of her as her mind raced. _Where are you slipping off to?_ She wondered, unable to curb the sneaking suspicion that Taylor was trying to slip away unnoticed.

"Who _is_ he?" Louise pressed, neglecting her own plate of stew.

"The Duke of Wales' son, Taylor; people around here talk about him like he's the reincarnation of Slytherin himself," Nora tore her gaze away from the door to regard Alice in surprise; her friend shrugged with a flagrant disregard for subtlety. "I have a natural curiosity; I mean, it's not as though I had to do an excessive amount of digging. People around here talk more than a sewing circle."

"The only question is: how do we sort out the liars?" Nora was unable to curb her burning curiosity, enough so that it got the better of her; she shoveled her dinner into her mouth at top speed before mumbling an unintelligible excuse to her friends and hurrying from the Great Hall in the same direction Taylor had disappeared, towards the dungeons. Her footfalls became slow and careful to ensure that she made no sound as she crept slowly along the long, gloomy corridor; hushed voices drifted towards her, blending together in a low harmony as they reverberated incoherently off of the stone walls. Taylor sounded agitated, his words clipped as he spoke in a half-whisper; Nora was so preoccupied with remaining covert that she failed to notice the conversation come to an end until the staccato rhythm of shoes on the flagstone floor began to approach her.

"Out for a stroll?" The blonde froze, her feet rooted to the spot as Taylor rounded the corner; his words came out as a sneer as he regarded her smugly.

"I was on my way back to the Common Room," Nora felt herself lie though her words noticeably lacked conviction; the boy started towards her slowly and she struggled to remain tightly in control of the fight-or-flight reflex building in her chest. "Like yourself, I have every right to be here." She hated the defensive edge in her voice as Taylor stopped to stand directly in front of her, a mere arm's length away; she was vaguely aware that she was doing the equivalent of staring down a cobra as her iridescent silver eyes locked with his.

"Did you enjoy dinner? It's a shame, really, that you had to leave so soon after arriving," Every syllable was said with perfectly measured poise and grace, though the meaning was poignant enough to ring in her mind; her cheeks flushed, though she refused to be the first to look away.

"I wasn't hungry."

"Nora, darling," Taylor's fingertips were icy as he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and the touch was like lightning; her skin promptly broke out in goosebumps as an involuntary reaction. "I thought we had agreed not to lie to one another." A chill ran down Nora's spine, rattling her to the core; she felt herself step back to jerk her head out of his reach.

"We agreed to no such thing." Taylor's eyes hardened at the disgusted tone of her voice, and he stepped towards her, making the blonde cringe back reflexively. "I don't even know you."

" _Don't act like you don't see me, Nora_ ," His words, though spoken as barely more than a murmur, were like daggers; Nora was suddenly hyperaware of the nerves coursing through her body and causing her to tremble. "You should be quick to learn that you're not the only person that sees things." Taylor stepped towards her, though she was too stunned to recoil. "Don't act like you don't see me the same way that I do you. I see you when you look at me. What do you think you see?" She stood in silence for several seconds that felt like an eternity; the air hummed with tension as it built between them. He could hardly deny how lovely she was; she was a perfect porcelain doll, strikingly similar to her mother. Her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheekbones in the flickering torchlight as she lowered her eyes.

"You're the only person that looks at me like I'm real," The words spilled out in a rush, whispered like a closely-guarded secret. "Everyone else looks at me as if I'm a bouquet, arranged for delivery; you look at me as though you're seeing light for the first time. Why?" Nora demanded.

"Because I am." Taylor said simply. "Our worlds are not so different, despite what you may have been led to believe." She allowed her eyes to flicker upwards for only a moment, but that was just enough time for Taylor's amber eyes to lock with her gaze and hold her stare. "You're the only other person that I see; no one else is real." Before either of them had a chance to respond, the tapping of heels on the flagstone floor signaled the arrival of Prof. Beckett, who rounded the corner and stopped abruptly in surprise. She regarded them both for a moment before clearing her throat slightly, her eyebrows arched over the frames of her glasses.

"I trust that you're behaving yourselves," Her tone held a silent warning; one side of Taylor's lips lifted into a slightly lopsided smirk.

"Don't I always behave myself, Professor?" Taylor replied smoothly, and Nora resisted the urge to roll her eyes; Prof. Beckett pursed her lips in an effort to hide her grin as she waved them both in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room.

"I am going to enjoy my dinner. I recommend the two of you do the same," Prof. Beckett replied briskly before continuing on her way towards the Great Hall; Nora and Taylor watched her depart until her footsteps had disappeared.

"So _that's_ what had you running off in such a hurry," Alice didn't bother to hide the contempt in her voice as she and Louise emerged at the opposite end of the dungeon corridor; she openly glared at Taylor, who glowered back. Louise arched one long, slender eyebrow, her eyes darting between Taylor and Nora in blatant confusion; Nora suppressed a groan internally, knowing that there would be questions to answer once the girls were alone in their dormitory. "What are you doing with this lot?" Alice scoffed; Nora's keen eye saw the muscle in Taylor's chin twitch as he set his jaw and stared her friend down.

"You know, I was wondering the very same thing," Taylor could feel Nora's penetrating stare burning a hole in the side of his head as the words left his lips, and he struggled to ignore the feeling; Alice snorted with derisive laughter. The boy inclined his head slightly in Nora's direction, regarding her with an icy gaze as he stepped around the three girls and made his way back towards the Great Hall, taking the stairs two at a time.

"What's his problem?" Nora shook her head slowly in response to Alice's question; when she turned back to face her friends, they were both staring at her with their displeasure evident on their faces.

"What?" Nora asked, trying to swallow the guilty tone to her voice; Alice made a face.

"You know exactly what, otherwise you wouldn't be asking," She teased, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Taylor. "It's it a little early in the year to be chasing boys?" Nora stuck her tongue out and Alice gave her a gentle shove.

"I didn't know you liked older men," Louise piped up and Nora's ears felt as though they were glowing red; she blushed and turned on her heel, making her way back to the Common Room.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Her tone was blasé as she gave a noncommittal wave over her shoulder; Alice and Louise giggled amid their footfalls on the spiral stone staircase. They were among the first to return to the Slytherin Common Room after dinner and took the opportunity to change into pajamas before curling up on the couch by the fire; Nora nestled her copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ between her knees, flipping pages as her eyes skimmed the words in the flickering greenish light.

"You're not already doing homework, are you?" Alice drawled sleepily from beneath the blankets she had buried herself under and her neck to peek at the pages; Nora nodded in silence as she navigated the index before turning to the appropriate page.

"I just want to look at the ingredients we have to gather to brew a Befuddlement Draught," She muttered mostly to herself; Louise nudged Alice awake, their eyes heavy with sleep from the warmth radiating from the fireplace. Nora glanced at her friends, resting their heads on each other's shoulders as they cat napped. "Go on to bed; I'll be along in a moment." Alice more than happily obliged, dragging her blankets behind her as she rubbed sleep from her eyes; Louise nudged Nora's book to get her attention and she looked up.

"Don't stay up too late," She reminded her, tilting her head towards the clock on the mantle. "Remember, we have Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing tomorrow morning." Nora smiled at her friend and Leo emerged from the girls' dormitory, purring loudly as he jumped up onto the couch and kneaded Nora's legs with his paws; he curled into a ball and voiced his contentment. Louise looked momentarily surprised; Nora felt her eyebrows arch in confusion. "What?" Louise shook her head, smiling sleepily as she shrugged.

"Leo doesn't really like anyone but me," The redhead bid Nora goodnight and left her in the silence.

It was strangely tranquil; her fellow Slytherins came and went in pairs or groups of three but no one disturbed her as began to read the first chapter of her textbook. Leo's body thrummed with the intensity of his purring; he was deeply asleep and keeping Nora's lap warm without her needing a blanket. She finished the short first chapter detailing the Befuddlement Draught, making a mental note to inquire about ingredients after their Herbology lesson the following morning; Leo complained grumpily as she removed him from her lap and trudged towards bed, sleep making her steps heavy. Alice and Louise were already fast asleep in their beds; Alice was spread eagle with one leg hanging off the bed as she snored, and Louise was curled into a ball under a bundle of bedding. Wasting no time, Nora slipped under the toasty down duvet and snuggled into the plush softness of her bed; sleep enveloped her quickly, and she was revisited by a pair of eyes the color of honey as she dreamed.


End file.
